How does anyone claim to know who you are? How may people have ever used their five senses to figure it out? How deep can one see in your soul? Isn't preconception the same old game everybody keeps on playing and losing since the beginning of time?
A few disappointments here, a few prejudices there, a lot of misunderstanding everywhere have made me aware of the image of your presence in the back of my head, and what I see is just a twisted reflection of my own life.
If I looked at the clothes you wear, the trophies you have won, your business card, the color of your skin, the thickness of your blood, your family album; if I listened to what you say that you are, the things you have done, the accent in your voice, the storms you have survived, the challenges you will face; if I smelled the perfume you just bought, the sweat in your clothes, your cat litter box, the food in your plate, your breath in the morning; if I touched your cold feet in winter, your wet hair in summer, your personal diary, your warm side in bed, your heart with a secret; and if I tasted the sweat on your neck, the dust under your nails, your overcooked dinner, your favorite drink, and your lipstick in my lips, then I'll be convinced that I know who you are, though I might be wrong.

Augusto Bordelois