Пожалуйста, переведите текст на английский, но не используя электронный переводчик так и я могу, а получается бред!?

Hello... It I and my imagined friend!
I hate roughness and aggression, and also those who considers itself extraordinary clever and correct. I the nihilist, me not important someone's opinion. I madly love music!!! Also I live only to it... I never loved pop... I listen to classics and a sacred music. I adore to go on museums and to visit ancient places. I dream to live in the eighteenth century...

I love: Music, music... Mozart, winter, an epoch of baroque, Vivaldi to sing, draw, rainy days to play on a piano, theatre, Sherloka Holmes, to read, a smell of old books and vanilla, XVlll a century, to look out of the window hours, as if in expectation of something... The Blizzard to speak about what, white gloves and laces... Porcelain, painting, poetry, portraits, Goethe to write verses, to speak on French, white roses, musketeers, ancient suits, a decadence, Alexander Vertinsky, black varnish shoes on red hairpins, dim ink from tears, the broken dreams... My grief... And only it!! And the unique person...

The love is a pain... Why it is impossible to love, without causing a pain? And can be without it, it and not so is good!? The pain - love means?...As it amuses me!!!

Hello... This is me and my imaginary friend!
I hate rudeness and agression and those who thinks that he is extremely clever and correct. I am a nihilist, I don't care what the others think. I extremely love music. I live by it. I have never loved pop-music... I listen to classic and spiritual music. I adore visiting museums and age-old places. I dream of living in the eighteenth century...

I love music, music, Motzart, winter, the barokko era, Vivaldi. Also I love singing, painting, playing fortepiano,reading. I love rainy days, theatre, Sherlock Holmes. the smell of old books and vanilla, the eighteenth century, snowstorm,white gloves and lace, china, poesy,portraits, Goethe, white roses, musketeers, old costumes,decadence, Alexandr Vertinsky. Then I love staring in the window for hours, as if I'm waiting for something, сreating rhymes, black varnished shoes on a red spike heel, degraded because of the tears mascara, my broken dreams... My sorrow... And only it. And only man...

Love's a pain. Why can't man love without causing pain? Maybe love's not that good without it?! Does that mean that pain is love? How it's amusing.