this was meant to be private, i said.

When I started compiling and publishing my writing on this blog, I dedicated it to a man I loved, and it was only for him and not for anyone else to know.

The poems I wrote then, were those we romantics used to write on paper. He was my muse, we were my theme, and my hurt and love were the driving forces. I edited, cancelled lines I didn't like, typed them out and sometimes, printed them. They were my best poems and I doubt I can write like that ever again. I shuddered with each phrase I pieced together on paper. I cried when I wrote and read them.

Eventually I wrote them here, and I gave avalon's worlds upon words to him.

Today, when I write my free-verse poetry in here, it is like mass-production, each piece a product rather than a masterpiece. Writing has become less sacred, just as I no longer possess that love for my muse. I have bastardised my writing, with crudity and Dada-like abstraction. Everything has flattened.

Just like many things. Today my world is a pack of dramatic silences and forceful actions, with lies and betrayal interweaved. Back when this was private, I had to write to tell him what was needed to be read not heard. There were lies, secrets, infidelity of mind and presence, loss of faith, hope and love, and ultimately loss of words to say . Today, the same things are surfacing but of a different breed - so I write publicly to make an art of it.

'Will writing ever take away my sadness?' No, and sometimes it won't even help. It becomes a mediocre sense of empty release, like blanks that make no sound when fired. Yet as life goes on and I am now 26 instead of 16, I find it harder and harder to cope with as I grow older. Sadness is already an almost consistent visitor.

Somehow I find the strength to forgive and accept the will of God in everything - that comes from strength endued by Him, as I am completely hopeless and weak. In the eye of my storm of anger, I suddenly have the urge to forgive all of them. Once again, like a blank with no sound when fired, my anger and hurt dissipate.

Other than that, I have no idea how else I should deal with things. The loss is easier to bear now, and it will slowly be completely bearable. After a while, things will become regular. Another breed of normalcy and settling will occur. I will be happy. Not in the same way: that, I can never have because we have been abandoned. I will grow old and the same bag of signatory artefacts will come along with me.

The best part is, we chose this route ourselves. We both assumed we got abandoned when we were the ones to abandon - we'll never know the truth now will we? We chose to burn the bridge simply because, and for all the reasons we conjured to support that act of arson. All the fear went down with it, and in its place, I carry regret.

This chapter will never close, it will just be replaced by a happily-ever-after. Better that perhaps, than taking avalon apart and making her the possessor of a fairy tale that can only happen once.