Love is not an easy subject, much less when it is lavished on people of the same sex. If we also add the restrictions imposed by a society accustomed to hiding everything that went against the morality and good customs practiced at the beginning of the 20th century, it turns out to be much more complicated.

This is my story, a story marked by the craziness of a time, my open sexual tendencies and my love for the Diva Greta Garbo, a beautiful woman, with an image full of mystery that became my obsession. Fears that some indiscretion of hers would expose her true preferences made her a solitary woman, isolated from the world around her.

I reverenced her since I met her in Constantinople in 1920, from that day I loved her more than my life, her fear of our relationship being transcended kept us living among furtive encounters for more than fourteen years, away from all prying eyes, We never allowed ourselves to have a life together. I don't know if she ever loved me, she constantly tested my patience and the strength of my love by interacting with other great stars of the cinematographic world, but in the end in 1957 she looked for me, perhaps as a farewell, perhaps I was the only person that she felt he had loved her sincerely, but ours was never possible.

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