From the author: My favorite and most reverent... Written in one breath, literally in half an hour. My understanding of LOVE... Dedicated to You. Be sick. Today is St. Valentina, I’m feeling sick. From the cloying, glamorous, obligatory nature of Love. From polite but indifferent valentines. From myself, who succumbed to all this hysteria. It’s as if I’m confused and can’t pull out the real thing that’s valuable. It's like I'm performing a play. And I’ve been disgusted with playing any performances for a long time. And yet. What's behind this? I listen to myself... Behind this is fear. And I run away from him so as not to find out what exactly I am afraid of. I watch how people celebrate this day. Some are romantic, some are sensual, some are bravura, throwing mud at the holiday and devaluing it. Someone finds a reason to get drunk. And behind all this masquerade and fireworks there is a confused Love. She is not so glamorous and beautiful. It is uneven, it has bulges and depressions. And she stands and watches as she is polished, made up and photoshopped. Or rather, not even her. And its plaster-virtual copy. And Love stands aside. And I understood my fear. I realized what I was afraid of. I'm afraid to approach her. To the real one. Neglyantseva. Wrong. But the most real one. It’s as if I, too, are dancing around a copy, but I feel her gaze on my back... And I start to feel sick. And I stop. I turn and look at her. And I start to cry. Because it’s very painful to waste this holiday like this. I want to go up and ask her how did this happen? I look at her features and understand that she is very ancient, she is the same age as the World. I approach her. I'm breathing. Love has a smell. For some reason now she smells like summer, sun and fresh hay. And I ask her to answer my questions. (Interview with Lyubov... I think I went too far, but I won’t forgive myself if I don’t do this). Love agrees. And, in my opinion, she is glad that, finally, they noticed her and turned to her opinion and her life. She is sad because she feels unclaimed and lonely. She feels contrived. She's sad. He looks at his dressed-up double and feels sad. I'm surprised that Love has so much sadness. And she grins, and I understand that this is also from my overeating “what true love she is,” and swallowing “love is always joy and happiness.” And I spit it out with relief. In general, I was spitting throughout the interview. Oddly enough, it was very harmonious. She spoke, and I cried, laughed, spat again. And in all this there was such relaxation and naturalness. And I understood that she loved me. He just loves. And when I cry. And when I laugh. Both beautiful and ugly. And inappropriate and clumsy. And harmonious and subtle. Precisely because Love is like that - wrong and different. And I realized that as soon as I choose that dressed-up mannequin as my idol, I also become obliged to fit into the guise of someone I can love. (You want to be loved, no matter what, you want to hide it.) It’s easy to love a mannequin - it’s smooth, beautiful, without flaws. I report my brilliant insight to Love. Hoping to receive praise. Love roars with laughter and throws a crumpled paper cup at me. The glass hits me right on the forehead. At this point I’m laughing and spitting out my next “beautifully formulated masterpiece.” There is no beauty in love. Just like there is no ugliness either. There is no rating at all. She simply loves. I ask her about this, expecting to get hit in the forehead with another crumpled glass. Love suddenly thinks. And he asks me: “What is Beauty?” And then I go nuts. Because I feel that now I’ll have to spit out again the piece about “Love and Beauty are inseparable” and “Only beautiful people are loved.” And then it turns out that she doesn’t understand what I’m talking about at all. And I begin to explain: “Beauty is... uh, well, in general, here are beautiful antique sculptures, here are fashion models, for example, Marilyn Monroe” (Monroe is definitely very beautiful, I am convinced of this). Love reflects. I understand it, in order to answer whether there is something in you or not -