You were just ten when I met you. You'd been molested. You were old. You were aware. You knew too much. But you wouldn't talk about it. I understand. I was an adult. A man, and men molested you. Why should you trust me?

But you did trust me, a little. Because the last time I saw you, you came bounding up to me and hugged me and let me hold you, and you were not afraid. It's a gift I'll treasure forever, because I know how hard it is to trust anyone again.

We are the same, you and me. Only age separates us. You are an old man inside, seeing more than a little boy should ever see. And I am a little boy, still believing in rainbows and cotton candy and warm hugs. It is he that reaches out to you.

If I could, I'd go back and stop what was done to you. I'd fight them, do anything I had to. Just so you knew you weren't alone. Someone cares that you hurt.

But I can't, so I can only love you from a distance, and not pry into that painful place so scary, so degrading, so dark. I don't expect your trust. I know I have to earn it. So every time I see you, everything I do will say, "You're safe, it's O.K.," and we'll play nerf football and fly kites like before, and I'll try to show you a man who's survived the same wounds as you, who is gentle, and strong, and real. That's all I can do, until you know I really can be trusted with your most awful secrets. I promise you, I'll never hurt you. I'll never make fun of you. I'll get to you wherever you are if you need me. Because I need you, Joel, to tell me there's hope for tomorrow in your eyes, and I'll know my pain was not for nothing, that I can give you shelter and hope in your violent storm.