To the Perfect Nameless Man

I don't know your name. I don't know your age. I don't know your life. Heck, I don't really even know your voice. But I know you.

I know you have an eye for elegance. Simplicity.

You are well read, sitting there with a physical book in your hands, peering down through your rectangular glasses with a slight smile. Smiling because you are so well-rounded. A smile that suggests you are happy to be learning, growing, enriching yourself.

You dress in nice clothes in typical minimalist fashion. It's as if you put them on with careful consideration and  have barely given them a thought since. Your hair is a beautiful light brown that reflects the light like a mirror. Your face is gorgeous, soft, and kind.

I like to think you are a writer. A man of much profound and thorough thought. You pace back and forth sometimes, slightly impatient but not showing it on your face. You carefully examine posters on the walls, absorbing every detail. Your stature, your overall composure, is just quintessential.

You, sir, are a beautiful man. You are a little gem in my routine life. You don't know it, but you have the power to make my day just a little brighter and a little better by just being present.

Thank you for being as earthly perfect as possible.