I could never delete this blog, because in doing so I would destroy art and part of myself, I have put a lot of my heart into the few letters to you and I don't have the strength to delete them. You asked me after we broke up, after I broke your heart if I would delete your blog, but I won't ever. Cyberspace may eat it up and it may disappear but I will never delete it, as long as there is the smell before rain, and the blood in my veins. Reference to "The boy who blocked his own shot," by Brand New, the lyrics I sent you at 5:17 am the 12th of July. The night I was on the phone to you for what seemed like forever, when I was too scared to hang up because I didn't know what you were going to do.
To me art counts for so much, it's something that is a look, a moment, music, a picture a photo. ANY form of self expression.
Art is living.
Art is past.
Art is the method.
Art is breathing.
Art is slavery.
Art is in the compulsion.
Art is true expression.
Art is the only way.
Art is the end.
Art is the end.
So I don't know if I'm going to tell you I'm still writing this or let you discover it. This is now really like letters to you, except I get no reply. This isn't for you now so much, as a form of therapy for me. This way whatever happens I still keep you as my best friend, I may not hear from you so much and I won't be able to hurt you anymore, but I can pretend you read this and thats enough I guess. To know you are there somewhere in the world, living, breathing, a step closer to the love you need because I never could have given you what you wanted or made you happy whatever I felt for you and how strong. You are in this world somewhere right now, and I want you to be happy and smile.
I love you Babydoll
You are my best friend
You are my best friend
Lea xxx
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