You surprised me on Lupercalia. It’s been years since the time I ended up here, but they aren’t enough to understand this weird traditions. Romans are very strange, I think. You were more beautiful than anyone with their white skin. Even than mine. You shone like the Sun do, like the burning sand from the desert were you made me love. Like the crystal clear water where we felt down. 

I miss you, my love. When I can’t see you, every moon push down on my sore shoulders more than any hit do. I’d have loved to give you so much more than a couple of flowers, more than only two kisses. The shock was mine seeing you so naked, flogging the air while you were possessed by the spirit of the holiday. It was wonderful and convenient to be confused with a woman, we being able to roll together far apart of their eyes after that game where you came back to be a hunter, even if I weren’t your prey never before.

It got late and he’s right now with his eyes on me every day and night. I’m going to be late again but for you at this time. I’m not going to be there tomorrow, neither after your next fight. I’m crying out my laments because I’m not going to be there licking your wounds, my heart. Please, keep your life with you. But at the next nightfall, I’m praying for his worries to cease and he to rest with his eyes closed and his arms far of me.

Wait for me. You dream with my lips as I do with your caresses. Embrace my love, huge as the long way what kept us apart as unknowns.

Yours.