Digging in the depth of our closet, I came across stories I wrote in my late teens and early twenties. I was struck by the tone of a “letter” I had typed about 25 years ago. I was struck by the loneliness that runs through the piece. Struck by the darkness of the place I wrote from. This was around the time my father died from cancer, when I was breaking up with my first and only girlfriend, and years before coming out. I wanted to be rescued then and had no idea that these walls can only be torn down from within. I really hope that, more than 25 years later, it is easier for young men to come out than it was for me then. And I’m glad that in then end I did rescue the little boy who wrote this letter, even if it took a long time.
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