I know not for which fate is worse: to have not opened my heart at all or to have loved and lost someone as I did. There is one thing I know though. Loving him was a sweet misery. I loved him as I love life itself, but I was certain that I would never be in his arms for he longs to hold another. I have resigned to the fact that I shall be with him only in my dreams. He once came into my loneliness and stirred the passion in my heart from its disturbed slumber. He was the beautiful sun, which rose for me on that beautiful morning of a new day of my life. His existence was enough reason for me to be born and entrusted to this void we call our world.I was hurt, maybe I still am. I thought I would never fall in love again. I was scared and lost my trust in love because it brought me nothing but despair. I knew that the glory of that morning would not last. For it must give way to nighttime, when the beautiful sun, which had heralded the coming of a new day, would become my pitiless tormentor. My affection for him then was my own passion. He was my cruel tyrant. Well perhaps loving him was like writing poetry: creating a thing of beauty, a heart's song, yet a song I was afraid to sing, for my balled might be mocked and my love rejected. Nonetheless, life itself is short and passing. No matter what happened, I have learned not to let my song to the grave. I can only be nothing but hopeful. Maybe my love for him will someday fade with the setting of the sun. But until such time when I will no longer be a slave of my own passion, I shall continue to master the art of letting go. There can be nothing more apt than this. tnx tingkerbell!