You remind me of a man I had once written of,
so intangible I hadn't realized
it was true.

His eyes a vibrant brown, haughty,
full of bravado; a confidence
so blaring it could set the world on fire,
a jab at the veneer separating excellence and perfection.

I question if I created him myself, or if he rest a portrait on my page.

Their names synonymous.

To see such a creation living,
silencing,
I think, maybe, the ink never reached the paper,
and he knows.