Day 668, Mask. Day's pictures, Poetry The man under this mask is long dead. He doesn’t look at me, but my regrets reflect on him. We are so alike underneath, I wish I could meet him. Share this: Email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email Share on Mastodon (Opens in new window) Mastodon Share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky Like Loading... Related