I know your name. A short story from the streets.

I know your name... Do you hear me? I know your name.

Samantha, I see you. I hear you.
I see the hurt in your eyes that you try to cover up with the drugs and alcohol.
Arms cut and heart broken.
At night a lady, and a young boy during the day.
God bless your heart, you don't deserve this, you didn't ask for this. Someone else chose your fate.
Work, work, work. Nothing else.
As the days  get longer, the cuts get deeper. Harder and harder to get out.
But just maybe, you will see the hope we bring in a simple coffee cup.
Samantha, Samantha, Samantha. Does it matter that I know your name? Do you care that I care?  Because I do.
You may not know me that well, but know, I know your name.








^I had a dream a few weeks ago one night after I came home from the streets and in this dream I was yelling at a girl who could not hear me. She kept walking away, so I kept yelling, "I know your name! I know it!" When I woke up the next morning that is all I could remember... I thought I should write about it, but I didn't know how. Then last night I met Samantha. When I looked in her eyes I saw her pain. On her arms were the evidence of hurt and judgment. She was drunk and on something very strong and just trying to laugh it all away. Knowing that when she woke up from a long night of work, her scars are still remain there reminding her of pain. As I watched her walk up and down the street, I could picture her as a boy who was hurting and the world was only making his scars deeper. And as sadness came over me wishing that I could do something, God whispered a few small words... "I know her name."
I will pray for you Samantha, pray that you will see who you really are, and that is loved.