You can't quit. Your birthday is coming up.
You can't quit. You bring a slice of beauty to the imperfect world. You give us sunny even when we know you are surrounded by gloomy clouds. No one ever accused me of being the king chief of the optimistics, but you have overcome so much. Each day is a victory, 'cause you are still alive and fighting and finding truth and beauty with your poetry and art.
You can't quit. I am selfish, I want you to entertain me. Where else can I experiment with really bad attempts at Haiku and get naught but encouragement? Besides, when I close shop on this piece o' crap in a few weeks or months or years, I want it to seem like my own Idea, not like I am copying off you. As we all know, it is all about moi? Right? RIGHT?
I will buy into the notion you are bored. Perhaps you have writer's block. Take a break. Watch some flowers grow. Walk the beach. Live. Breath. Write. In no time you will be ready again.
Or ignore my semi-lucid ramblings. Do what feels right. Consider this an interwebz ovation, a hearty, standing acknowledgement of well done. Whether you come back for an encore is up to you.
Either way, I treasure the memories and offer thanks for making me ponder.