I wished to practice the art of writing, to you, I tried but perhaps you got used to it, it wasn't so arty though, but you were that mini piece of passion every artist needed to survive the death of their as well mini piece of talent. Love is a seed, you plant it well and it'll grow to feed unconditionally. And I know I wasn't even aware that this body I belong to was the land for your seeds not until your seeds were almost dry. I am moved by the letters of love and respect I collect in my dusted tiny library, which I collected in the first place to read them for you, I am moved by the overwhelming amount of love our nation, our materialistic disgusting souls could carry. How did we all end up growing half dead? desperate for love and attention ? I, from the bottom of my heart love you, or at least have loved and still love the forms of love you have carefully planted in me. I'll take care of it. I promise you, although promises are **** to you, I promise, I'll take care of it.