He scratches himself while seeking himself out, and stitches himself up where he and the world have somehow conspired to tear him up. I admire his strength, as he holds the falling pieces of himself together. He is beautiful. I wish he could see that, and see himself the way I see him. I wish he could be gentle with himself, not so self-conscious, allowing himself to bubble to the surface, the unconscious way he does when he is not hiding the blood under his fingernails.