— I screamed, I swore, I tore paper to bits, I ripped hearts to tatters. It’s all your fault — you are famous for this, forcing sane men and women to threw tantrums, as if they are helpless children.
Before you I was a promising young gal with a good sense of humor and prosperous future. I had no standards to myself and could write freely and careless. But when I decided to give my heart to the altar of art (your altar!), everything changed. Now I can’t read my own writings and put up with all the terrible twists, rage-inducing rhymes and punishing puns. Now I have to spend all my free time working and improving, only hoping one day to reach same honor you granted others and then… I don’t know? Slowly go insane?
As you can see, my hopes for a normal life are ruined! All banks and account departments are closed for me. Now there is no other to me but you, as I won’t be able to swallow my pride ever again.
Maybe, it is just as it should be. Maybe, my painful shyness and vivid imagination just couldn’t lead me any other way. Maybe, I would have died out of boredom and misery, if it hadn’t been for you.
To be honest, I bear no grudge against you. To be even more honest, I can’t even imagine my life without you now (it is also your fault, by the way).
Art is pain. Art is pleasure.
I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I…
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