The Recognition

Their pen does the same fidget.

Same rhythm.

Same small pause

before they write anything down.

They caught me staring.

Asked if we knew each other.

And I realized I was looking

for myself in a stranger's hands.

This is what happens

when you recognize something—

the moment of seeing yourself

in someone you've never met,

the shock of it,

the way it makes you feel

less singular than you thought.

Same nervous habit.

Same way of buying time

with a pen,

same way of touching

without touching,

same small private ritual

that belongs to you both now.

I said no, we don't know each other.

But I was lying.

I was seeing myself

in their gesture,

in their fingers,

in the person they might have been

if they were me.