That summer was the worst for both of us.

Don't get me wrong - I loved my dad and I knew he loved me too - he just wasn't ever sure how to show it. Not since the time I introduced him to Sebastian.

I soon learned that he wasn't really much company and I knew he thought the same of me, so we kept to ourselves. Dad would bury himself in mountains of work and I would busy myself with the unpacking - working out what could be used around the house and what could be put away in storage. I spent most of my summer pushing boxes around the attic, which was how I was first introduced to Kurt Hummel.

The box didn't immediately catch my eye, but that was probably because it was right in the corner covered in thick layer of dust and several years' worth of cobwebs. In fact, it was only when I was trying to strategically repack the boxes to make more space for the rest that I still had to store that I noticed it.

Being the naturally curious person I am, I didn't waste any time in opening up the box to find what was inside. It turned out to be a box full of someone's journals, meticulously dated and organized, and all in amazing condition considering how most of them had spent a decade in a dusty old attic.

The diaries - nine of them in total - seemed to document the life of someone named Kurt Hummel, from when he was ten years old until he was eighteen. The earliest was dated about eighteen years ago and the latest was about ten years ago.

So whoever this Kurt was, he was about ten years older than me.

It was a strange thought, because upon reading the pages of the books, I found out that Kurt and I were so similar. We both loved performing, had the same kind of outlook on pop culture and most importantly - we were both gay.

Many of his entries included stories of the horrific things he went through for being honest with himself and with the world around him. I knew how that felt, and without meaning to, or needing to have to think about it, I became intensely connected to a person I had never met.

I brought the box of diaries down from the attic and stored them under my bed, pulling them out to read whenever I had had a particularly bad day, or whenever I just felt the need to read the well thought-out words he had penned down in his tidy handwriting.

I once found a photo tucked away at the very back of his last journal. It was a picture of a dark-haired, Hebraic girl with her arms thrown around a boy who looked like the stereotypical jock type, and another boy with an amazing smile and the most gorgeous eyes I had ever seen.

On the back of it, Kurt had written, "Finn, Rachel and Someone Else."

I put the picture in my drawer and looked at it every night before I fell asleep, memorizing every feature of his face as I did.

It became quickly apparent that I needed to find out what had happened to him. Was he happier now than he had been in high school? Did he manage to achieve all his dreams? Did he have a happy and loving family of his own now?

It wasn't just because our stories were so similar and I related to him so much on so many different levels - it was because honestly, I needed to know him more.

Because whether I wanted to be or not, I was in love with Kurt Hummel.