Some say that differences between us are found in our eyes, in the color they are painted with and the particular way they sparkle under the sunbeams, others say the difference is found in the curves of our lips, the way they move letting our words flow free in the air. But in the end, if one collects all those “so-called” distinctions, all those possible combinations, the answer becomes visible: there are not two identical faces, and that is a truth long time established.

But for me, for me all faces were identical, because none of them were representative to anything. For me a face did not mean identity, because faces were volatile, always changing, confusing.

But deep inside I wanted to see his face, to recognize him between all the hectic murmur and then grasp his hand, hold him tight... If only I could recognize his face, if only he had a face only made for me to see.