Some people hide their face, hide their names and everything they can from everyone around but they’re like an open book. you can read them from the start to the end. from the very beginning to now.. and you can tell what they like and what they don’t. you reach to a point where name is the least you care about or wanna know. the face doesn’t matter anymore because these are just a cover of a (always) good designer. the cover that no matter how long we hide, eventually, will show like the sun in a summer day. and we still fail to understand the meaning behind it all. the importance of it all.
Some other people, you know their names, faces, their titles and everything you “need” to know but still know nothing about them except the face they show. except the smile they, sometimes, fake, to hide everything you “think” you know. then you, because of the face, draw deeper lines and stories, assumptions and expectations. and never succeed to reach their deeps and their secret corner of the life. their love and fears, their true smiles and tears. you eventually realize that they’re nothing but a name. the rest is still theirs. you find out that what you drew all this time is an illusion of what you wanted to see and how you wanted it to be like.