Letters I never send

Distance makes me wonder. I left for Japan without a word from her — no “safe trip,” no blessing for the road ahead. Silence where once there would have been warmth. And yet, I cannot deny the pull. She told me she was tired, worn down by her mense. Out of habit, or maybe out of a place too deep to name, I bought her essence of chicken. Last night, Briant told me she drank it. That one act carried a weight I can’t explain. She could have ignored it. She could have left it untouched. But she accepted it, and in doing so, she accepted me — if only for that fleeting moment. Still, the silence lingers. She drinks what I give, but withholds the words I crave. The contradiction leaves me restless. What am I to her? A shadow from the past, or a kindness she cannot turn away from? I search for answers in the quiet, but all I find are echoes of myself. Burn

  Not Forgiven, Just Replaced There was no warning. No final storm before the collapse. Just a quiet erosion — slow, silent — until everything we were was dust. I used to think breakups came with explosions, ultimatums, or teary goodbyes. But this wasn’t that. This was a quiet vanishing, the kind that leaves no sound… only echoes. I stood in the wreckage, still calling it home, long after she had already boarded another life. When Love Begins to Fade She once told me, “You’re not replaced… you still have a place in my heart.” But sometimes, a place can be a shadow — cold, forgotten, sealed behind a locked door no one opens anymore. I believed in our story, even when it bent. Even when it cracked. I believed because I loved. But belief cannot resurrect a heart that has found a new rhythm, a new warmth in another’s arms. The Most Painful Betrayal Is the Quiet Kind I’ve made mistakes. I carry my share of guilt, scars I wear openly. But when I fell, I turned around and begged for anoth...

Not Forgiven, Just Replaced There are no more battles left to fight. No more pleading, no more hoping to rewrite history with words or silence. I’m not writing this to win back a lost love — I’m writing this because I need to breathe again without the weight of betrayal pressing on my chest. There was a time I believed in second chances. When she fell, I forgave. When I fell, I was erased. Sharyn once asked for a new beginning after her own slip — and I granted it, wholeheartedly, without conditions. But when my own failings surfaced, there was no room for grace. No starting over. Only silence. Only secrecy. Only someone else taking my place in the shadows. She used my faults as her permission slip to open her heart to someone else. She confided in him — her regrets, her grief, her version of our story — And in doing so, she created a new one without me in it. I was busy working, exhausted, trying to provide, While she quietly stepped out of the life we built — Not with an explosion, b...

  Sometimes the worst pain isn’t what happened  but what never got to happen. Not the confrontation. Not the resolution. Not even the honest goodbye. I kept hoping the truth would set me free. That one day, all the missing pieces would fall into place, and I’d finally be able to breathe without wondering. But when your expectations of a closure become no closure at all, you begin to realise — truth doesn’t always heal. And some questions live unanswered… not because they can’t be explained, but because the answers wouldn’t change what’s already lost. Burn

  Ashes Don't Speak by Burn There was a time I thought truth would heal me. That if I just knew, if she just told me, I could finally rest. But the truth came, and it didn't bring peace — only silence. She spoke, finally. Maybe not everything, maybe just enough to stop me from falling apart. But enough to know that what we had, what I held on to… had already been handed over to someone else piece by piece when I wasn't looking. She says it wasn’t love. She says she didn’t mean for it to happen. She says it’s me she still feels for. But why, then, did she orchestrate a world where I was the stranger? Why did she cloak herself in stories so finely stitched that even my instincts — loud as they were — kept getting silenced? Now I know. But it doesn’t mean I’m free. Her confessions don’t unlock the cage. They decorate it. And I’ve come to realise: Closure is not something she can give me. Closure, if it even exists, has to come from the quiet decision to stop waiting for what w...

  When Her Voice No Longer Comes Home I used to know the sound of her thoughts. They'd arrive like quiet footsteps at my door — soft, unfiltered, almost sacred. She’d share her random musings, her complaints about work, the way the sun hit the curtains just right in the afternoon. But these days… her voice no longer comes home. I still hear it sometimes — not through the phone, not in person, but in my imagination. I wonder what she’s telling  him now. The new him. The one who gets the updates first. The one who now occupies the space I once did. I don’t hate her. I just ache in silence. I once believed that if I stayed gentle, if I stayed present, she might find her way back. But love doesn’t work that way. Not when it’s shared in the shadows. Not when the voice that used to soothe me now soothes someone else. I’m not angry. I’m just… displaced. What I need is an internal closure, not anymore from her confession but it's my mindset and shift of engagement.  She says she ...

I’m still learning to sit quietly with the uncertainty of things. Yesterday, I met two old classmates, Dennis and Dave, for a simple birthday celebration. There was laughter, singing, and a rare moment where I felt a glimpse of lightness. I sent a video to Sharyn — maybe to share that slice of life, maybe to remind her that I still exist in moments she’s not part of. Her response was mixed, and a little sharp. Jealousy as I hoped it was or just tiredness masked with critique. She shut down her WhatsApp timestamp again. This time, she says it's not because of me — it’s to shield her status from him, the one who came in when I was lost in my own spiral. She made a promise to sleep early. I can’t say I fully believe it, but I didn’t press. Maybe I’m tired too. This morning, I texted her. She didn’t respond immediately but called me instead — curt, defensive, and reminding me not to “read too much” into our long conversations. I reminded her that texting wasn’t clinging — it was honori...

 This morning, Joellyn left for Canada and New York. Briant and I sent her off at 6am. As I watched her walk into departure, my heart swelled with pride — my daughter, so grown, so capable. But I also felt the ache of letting go. I wished I could do more, protect more, be more. Last night, Sharyn and I spoke — 2.5 hours on WhatsApp call. It began with a simple message, but ended somewhere deeper. She had shut off her “last seen” timestamp again. When I asked why, she said it wasn’t because of me this time — it was to avoid her current partner checking on her online activity. She had promised him she’d sleep early, but somehow, here we were, talking through the night. The conversation started off awkwardly. But gradually, it opened up into something meaningful. We shared — genuinely. I listened to her talk about work, something she never really opened up about when we were together. I asked questions; she explained in detail. I felt proud of her. I told her she’s a good mentor and t...

Night Reflections – When Loneliness Speaks Loudest When the world quiets down, the echoes of her voice, her laugh, her familiar rhythm come flooding in. Not to torment me, but because she once filled a space in me so completely, that silence now sounds like her absence. I miss her. Not just the good parts or the memories. I miss knowing. Knowing where she is, what she’s doing, whether she’s safe, whether she’s happy. But tonight, I remind myself: Loving someone does not mean losing myself. Missing her does not mean I am not healing. And loneliness… loneliness does not mean I am unloved. It only means I am still learning how to be whole again. So tonight, I will sit with the ache. I won’t run from it. But I won’t let it own me either. One breath at a time, I’m finding my way back. To myself. Burn

  A New Chapter I am beginning this blog not because I have all the answers, but because I am searching for them. Some things in life are irreversible and no amount of guilt can diminish what kind of person I was.  Life has been complicated for me. I’ve made choices that left marks on the people I love most, and I’ve carried the weight of living two lives. Along the way, I lost someone who stood by me for nearly three decades. I also found someone new whose presence became real in ways I never expected. Between the two, I discovered not just love, but also regret, guilt, and lessons about honesty. The consequences of playing with fire.  I am writing here to prepare myself for a different way of living — one without hiding, without pretending, and without holding on to both the past and the present at the same time. This blog will be my space to reflect, to repent, and to rebuild. Some days I will share memories. Some days I will share lessons. Other days, I may simply wri...

  Reflection:  The Weight of a Gesture She shared with me a collection of our memories — photos, videos, little fragments of the life we once built together. And for a moment, I held them close, hoping they meant something more. I teared. But love doesn’t survive in nostalgia alone. And healing doesn’t come through silence wrapped in sentimental offerings. I realised those moments she gave me were real, but  they were from the past , and not an indication of her future — at least not with me in it. They may have been given out of guilt, or care, or simply to cushion the pain, but  they weren’t a promise . Just memories. Still, I accept them. Not as signs of hope, but as proof that what we had  was once beautiful . That I loved truly, and that I can hold my head high knowing my love wasn’t a lie — even if her path now diverges from mine. And that’s where I’ll begin my healing. With acceptance, not fantasy. With truth, not illusion. One memory at a time, one breat...

  "The Mirror and the Scar" – A Reflection I am a victim of my own deed. I was the one who cracked the foundation. Not because I didn’t love her — but because I didn’t protect that love when it needed me the most. Now, in the silence she’s left behind, I sit not only with my grief, but with the truth that it was  me  who let the storm through the door. But that doesn’t mean I deserved all that followed. It doesn’t mean my pain now is any less valid. I am not asking for pity — only to be seen… as someone who broke and is now broken too. I carry the weight of what I did, and also the weight of what was done to me in return. Both are heavy. Both are mine. And in this reckoning, maybe I will find a version of myself who can forgive… not just her… but  me . I still love her — that hasn’t changed. But love, when not met with honesty or mutual effort, cannot be the reason I keep reaching. I won’t chase the ghost of something that no longer breathes the same way. I’m not pre...