He Left Me Alone

62

Long after I had collected the courage to open the box, I was still confused about what it was all about. There were papers -the big and small ones. They were his handwriting, I recognized.

I picked one of the paper.

"Dear Tommy,

I don't think I can endure anymore pain. Help.

Love, Logan."

It hit me with pain. I picked another one.

"Dear Tommy,

I'm sorry. I love you.

Love, Logan."

I fell to my knees as a realization came through my mind. But I didn't believe it, so I picked another one.

He was hurt.

I picked another one.

He loved me.

I picked another one.

Logan, I had just discovered, was nothing but secrets. I thought I had known him. But I hadn't. At all.

I only knew one Logan. And this, Logan who wrote on these papers, was another Logan I knew nothing about. He was hurt. He was depressed. And I hated myself for thinking that he was fine. He was the one who said everything would be alright. And he was also the one who gave up.

I picked another paper.

I asked myself, how much did I know him?

I picked another one.

He never told me his parents were against homosexuality.

I picked another one.

Did I really fall in love with the same person who wrote these papers?

I picked another one.

Tears were coming. My hands were shaking. I could hear these angry voices in my ears that suddenly became audible.

I picked another one.

He really did cut himself to death.