The best thing I can offer is dedication. I fully dedicate myself, my life and my soul to things I love. I am shaped by them and I cannot imagine myself without them, since “I” in question is not something independent, but a prism through which other things can truly shine, making me shine as well, in sync with them. Dedication is my form of expression, it is a form of art on its own. It is not thoughtless fanatism or self-indulgent obsession (though it is certainly obsessive). It stands above the concept“love”, or at least the most common interpretation of it. It is a form of self-destruction, but it is also a form of creation — burning yourself down to preserve the flames of your passion. My true, honest dedication is probably the only thing I can offer, and having it disregarded is the biggest insult and the deepest pain. My dedication and its fruits are Me. They are not a gift to others, for others to consume, they are a gift to the object of my dedication and they are simultaneously a reflection of my Self — I am giving myself to my muse. I want to keep creating out of dedication, and that is my only purpose. Even if the lengths of my dedication will not ever be understood.