No one will ever be able to say they know you as well as I knew you. We shared intimacy, but we also shared personality. Someone else may see your underwear and touch your bare skin in places that are profusely innervated, but the real intimacy lies inside the skull.
I am like you, most of the time. Not exactly the same, for I still am mine.
I fell in love with your mind. You seduced me with words that echoed my thoughts (I’m an egotist, I’ll pay for my crimes). We didn’t always agree, but that is no contradiction.
I am deeply sorry you felt art was killing you. Maybe you thought love was too. But I am not sorry I knew you. Better than anyone. Yes, I’m sure.