You woke up everyday, and you could never decide the name you’d like to use. You changed them as I changed my hair,and my shoes. Your names seemed to always be biblical; heroes, of sorts. Sometimes your name was that of a god, or that of destruction. Ezra was one of your favorites; second to Gabriel and Deicide. You’ve always been odd; lord am I glad I fell in love with your fighters hands, Cracked, scabbed and calloused. They always seemed to be bruised, or bloodied. They where crisis crossed with scars; constellations, you’d whisper, as I lay there counting them. Today your name is Gabriel. I don’t care much; I love you no matter how you see yourself.