To the 14th of February, year 2022… or Holy sh*t

Eugenia DiMarte

Yesterday St.Valentine’s Day was being celebrated in my city. As a hardcore ‘forever alone’ character, I wasn’t obliged to participate in the collective madness, but I happened to find myself in the middle of it because of some urgent downtown business of mine that had very unexpectedly ushered me there...

And so, there it was. A truly sumptuous traffic jam that I had known nothing about. Holy sh*t. I hadn’t been prepared. I was trying to encourage a more lively movement of the trolley that I was on with the power of visualization, but it didn’t seem to be really helpful. Of course, I was in a great hurry and was getting more and more devastated every time one of my stammering affirmations (mixed with curses) was proving itself to be just another beautiful line written on my beautifully sick mind by the abstract hand of my solemnly troubled imagination. I was shaking and failing and failing on.

Then the trolley stopped still. (Again.) Holy sh*t. Another traffic jam. And neither it was the time nor the location of any of our regular evening rush hours; nope, it was the criminally candy rush of expensively freshly-cut roses, bright paper hearts, obviously cunning Cupids and plain sexual desire that was turning the regular evening routine of Kharkiv upside down. Too many chic cars overloaded with all kinds of chic stuff for the sake of dazzling romance. Too many glittery hearts hanging from the bare branches of February maples. They were waltzing with the frosty wind that was trying to tear the poor shiny things into pieces. I was torn too, and wholeheartedly pissed off as well.

When I finally got out of the trolley, I made three vital phone and Telegram calls, then I started to rush myself. The happily shiny streets were crowded by countless zombie apocalypse couples that were eagerly showing the image of their perfectly polished, festive love to the rest of the world… As I happened to be among the sullen, that other side that looked so beautifully in love suddenly made me dizzy and sick and very, very tired.

Frankly speaking, the glorious image of St. Valentine’s love has always been indigestible to my fastidious spirit. Perhaps I don’t really fit in the target audience. Or there is too much plastic in all that anyways. But I sincerely hope that all the glossy rubbish will be recycled properly and in due time, and free our planet and conscience. Thank you.