Entering day 14 of Lent, otherwise known as February 69th… Russians have a saying for every situation – and every counter situation – Today that saying is:
“Late Easter, late Spring”
This year, the great orthodox lent ends in May. My sanity is hanging by a thread. I can’t tell if the lack of protein and lactose is affecting my mental state or if it is just the seamless grey days, snow and cold.
As a lonely citizen of this winter city, I have bestowed my affections on Winter. Needless to say, this has gone as well as all my other relationships.
Winter swooped in and I swooned. We frolicked in the snow. I bubbled with childish delight at the view of every flake. I changed my wardrobe. I dressed up for Winter.
Some days he would blow hot. And then cold. A day without him filled me with despair. What if he never came again? But as the days passed, his visits became more frequent. We feasted on fiery flakes. Our passion piled up around us, blanketing the ugly world from view.
It towered, then waned. Winter was always there. Ready. Watching. I stopped dressing up. I stopped taking his calls. I chose the gentle warmth of my own solitude over his obsessive compulsions.
Now I wish winter would die. Or at least stop calling me until I hate him less. I deserve better than chapped lips and dry skin.
I haven’t told him yet. The other day, I met someone. I think he likes me. It was a chance meeting as I cursed my frostbitten fingers. He brushed by me and smiled and disappeared as fast as he came.
I am a serial monogamist. I believe in lust at first sight. I bear my burden with patience. He will come again. He must.
My new love.