Familiar Stranger

We don’t know who he is.

Some days, a misunderstood prophet, come back from the last days of his trials, when the townspeople wouldn’t listen.

Others, an artist taken over by a passion, meaning to write up in a frenzy, unable to stop himself, in some quest against time. ¿Will he reveal the secrets commended?

His violin bold drama. Soon after, hands strike the piano keys composing his own pieces, at times morose, later epical.

He tiktoks existential, wielding a sword in thought and skill. Hours pass alone, submerged in epochs gone. His world stirs, the timer scrambled.

And he claims too much, but we love him still, yearning for a true flame in the midst of so called normality. His mane a shadow over smokey eyes obtuse. His desire ignites sending nuclear blasts up toward the stars and…

We’re still asking who he is.