but I guess I'll stick to Russian.

what I hate you most for is that if I could, I would take you to, say, Provence and feed you with cheese and wine, and teach myself this god-damn language. I would smell your hair like herbs and weave elaborate micro-worlds, one by one, for your chaotic yet effective exploration. I would create things beyond the epoch, for you, the only one in the era, the only one in this world.

someone scattered raspberries on a sunny pavement.
why are you leaving again?