All is illusion. Fireworks (№ 402436)

And I wrote about hundreds of lines
And I was dying in them hundreds of times,
And I spat on the frozen world,
Wanted to be with you here and now.
And you were there for me in the spring,
Unattainable in the Kingdom of winter;
I wanted to stay with you
And say: in this world there is only us.
But I would not then and not there
And all the rest will invent itself.