Oh, Rishabh is so honest, at least with his feelings.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”
-Pablo Neruda