It's hard, I think, to define my life and to define who I am. There is much I can say, but I always skip up the chance to speak up because I will always for the rest of my life, be the man who stands in the back of room, the man who stands behind the fucking frontman. And…I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for who I am and so sorry for who I let myself be. I can blame it on everyone else and it would all be okay, but it wouldn't be okay for me. Deep inside I know I am a truthful man. I do. But, what can you possibly say when your life was turned upside down and the only one left standing up wasn't you?

So I guess you want to know about me? You want something from me, babe?

Well, take a number.

The line's long.

Everyone wants something from bigshot lance popstar/producer/manager extraordinaire, but no one wants anything from Lance, the boy from Mississippi who didn't always have hair that grew in spikes. Did you know what I wanted to be when I grew up?

Oh no. Of course not. You just assumed that I'd be a multimillionaire in a pop group standing in the back wearing a dunce hat. Well, I was not always so talented and so fucking fabulous if that's even what you want to call my fame.

See, I'm the man who's smiling on the outside, but withering like a wilted rose inside.

Time for rehearsals. Wonderful.

Lance Bass. October 1st, 9:44PM. LOCATION: Chicago, Illinois

I could feel a tear sliding down my cheek as I shut the journal. I grasped onto it tightly and reached inside the bag for something else to hold onto. It was a shirt. It was his shirt. I inhaled it deeply and though it was long gone, I could still think of exactly how he used to smell like. He wore a little cologne because he knew I liked it that way and he would always smell like fresh shampoo and his beautiful, hard earned sweat. Two years ago, I had decided to never buy his brand of cologne for anyone or anything. I broke this pact with myself six months ago. I just snapped. I brokedown. I had to hang onto the little bit of him I still had left. I remember running to the store in my pajamas and slippers. I remember the rain and how good it smelled when no one was around to experience it. I remember the dark streets with no one wandering throughout them. And I remembered the stars in dotted rain as I ran as fast I could to purchase the only thing I could that would remind me remotely of him. When I got there, my hair was damp and my pajamas were soaked. I didn't care. I clutched the three twenty dollar bills in my hand and I left it on the counter of the store, grabbing the little box of cologne, and not caring whether or not I got change back. I stared down at the bottle before me and I clutched it as I made my way back home.

It was six months later that I realized that I had never once opened the bottle of cologne. There it was, just sitting on the counter of my kitchen, mounted like a treasure. Turning my head away, I let even more droplets of my own salty tears flow down my cheeks. It made little splattering noises as it hit the shirt I had tucked in my arms. I had held it up to my head and I let my senses take over. I could only now imagine what it would be like if he was here right now.

He had been gone for two years now. He had disappeared from the face of earth leaving behind everything, his money, his passport, his driving license, his band, and…his girlfriend. We never found him. When the news broke out that Lance Bass was missing, the media went crazy. The fans were in disbelief. The guys were uncontrollable. They sent out every precinct in the city out to look for him. They cancelled their tour. The band fell apart. But still, they never stopped looking. I could do nothing. But wish and hope for him to come back. We weren't ever sure if he was dead, alive, injured, or just suffered from amnesia. He was just…gone. At first I was so depressed. I loved him with all my heart and I knew that he was the one that I was meant to be with. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together. We were simply soul mates. I cried for months and slowly those months turned into years. I never expressed it, but I knew somewhere inside I was angry. I was angry that our love wasn't strong enough to keep him here. That I couldn't have been there when this happened. That I couldn't have been in Chicago, Illinois on October 12th, 1999. The only part of him I had left was his last journal entry, which he too had left behind. It was dated October 1st. Just 11 days from his disappearance. What he left in it I was never prepared for. This was not a side I had ever seen in the four years that I had loved him.

In his last journal entry, he revealed his soul. The part that I had never witnessed before. The part that gave truth to who James Lance Bass really was.

He was…dead.

Dead inside. If only I had known that, I know that I could have helped him in some way. If only I wasn't so blind to the man that I had known and love for four years.

This is why…I blame myself for killing the spirit of Lance Bass.

I ran my hands over the leather binding of his journal and I could feel a small bump in the journal binding that I had never noticed before. I slowly took off the soft piece of leather strip and my eyes fell upon a small note that landed in my lap. I had never seen it before and the sides of the paper was yellowed from age.

In small letters, were the words, 'I love you'.

My heart skipped a beat and I cried the hardest I had ever cried in my entire life.

Lifting my head to the sky, I whispered the only words that I could muster up in my mind at the moment.

'I love you too.'