One cold January morning, Ethan sat at his desk and began to write. The words flowed from him like a confession, each line an unburdening of the weight he had carried for so long.
He wrote about the nights he spent crying, the mornings he dreaded facing, and the emptiness that followed him like a shadow. He wrote about how much he loved the people in his life, but how he felt like he didn't belong among them.
And then, at the very end, he wrote:
"I'm sorry. I tried to be the light. I hope you'll remember me that way."
He wrote about the nights he spent crying, the mornings he dreaded facing, and the emptiness that followed him like a shadow. He wrote about how much he loved the people in his life, but how he felt like he didn't belong among them.
And then, at the very end, he wrote:
"I'm sorry. I tried to be the light. I hope you'll remember me that way."
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