You look at a picture

of a man speaking—

smiling, looking happy,

unafraid of the crowd.

A light dances in your grey pupils.

You think of the young generation.

Then you feel something familiar

on that face.

It was the same nose

you look at in the mirror.

It was taken on that fateful day,

when it started—

the day you had spoken with a mic.

Your face had never betrayed you.

The "brave" praise was real.

You look at yourself

and you see the truth:

no one truly knows another.