I love the way he hesitates before some verses, like he has forgotten what to say. I love the little smirk on his face and his bed hair. I love his body language, how he puts his hand in his pocket and then commands attention with a single point of his finger. I love how he slightly stands on his toes at the very end. I love how he articulates every carefully placed word. I love his voice. I could listen to this poem every day and still get chills down my spine.
I love his humble confidence, like he knows that this poem has changed my life.