Portrait

If I had the ability to draw, I would draw your face as clearly as I would if you were in front of me instead of being miles away. I would start by drawing its unknown outline thanks to the diffuse fog that your long beard offers.

I would draw a semi-frown on your populated and defined eyebrows; a mischievous look in your eyes whose blue I could never define well (perhaps because of the opaque glow that veiled them), and a half-sided smile on your soft and perfect lips.

The full expression would reflect the decision I saw in your eyes the first time you took me by my waist to kiss me in the middle of the height and the darkness.

If I had the ability to draw, I would define your long nose and perfect tip in the middle of that gesture (a gesture that, by the way, would lift your cheekbones and give a certain feline expression to your traits and to the complete attitude).

If I could draw, I would draw your temples with some grey hair, and populate the rest of your hair with wheat fields in autumn... A similar colour would put on your beard, although, to it and its autumn, I would add a red sunset to tint.

If I could draw, however, I still could not fully portray all the details on your face that I have etched on fire, such as the perfume of your cheeks, the softness of your skin, your brief eyelashes or the pearly drops of sweat on your forehead when you made love to me.

No place in the world can portray you, to my eyes, as my memory can. No place in the world, but your own face.

...Who would say that I suffer from face blindness.