Dear Anonymous,
Survivor. Sinner with the heart of a saint. Saint and stumbler. New medication for seizures. Girlfriend who has accomplished the near impossible and highly unlikely: getting off the streets into an apartment and made it one year.
A life held together with string and tape, rusted exhaust and alignment issues. And in that ball of twisted twine and old band aids flapping off, in that jenga puzzle of nicotine stained fingers and scars across his scalp is a heart that beats to a tune of survival and redemption. Of desperate need and self sufficiency. Human. Hurt. Life not letting go. Room despite it all for love.