Stitches...

He was no angel and he never asserted to be one. He also knew he never could turn into one till the day he died. All he could be was himself. His being made up of small pieces of scarred imperfections stitched together into a whole with threads of good intentions. He could be bad in ways that allure and good in ways that comfort, but that would make him too perfect to resist and detrimental to his wishes of saving people the tribulations of his association. And so he persists and perseveres.