I was first loved in Mexico, the sinked city who dreames its liquid ghosts in every night. But I'm not sure where I love first the manly kind. Could it happened in a snowy land between birches woods, when I felt my soul become mortal at the first sight of a slavonic young man's deeply grey eyes. So much nights and so much love has been mine since then. But I still condemned to dream awake, as an anti-vampire in search of me, looking in to the hidden mirrors of some people, searching -maybe- my reflection.