There’s something I’ve always loved about New York City on Valentine’s Day.
The daily, dreary commute home is suddenly full of people clutching little tokens of affection. Strangers on the subway suddenly have so much more context. A women has two bulging plastic bags from Rite Aid, when mI see the teddy bear ears poking out of each and I think of the little kids she’s going home to. The man sitting in front of me fiddles around with a blue pen in one hand, as he holds a pink flowery card in the other. He clearly wants to write this card as he sits on the subway but is struggling to find the perfect words… Or maybe he’s just self conscious because he can feel my imaginative eyes on him…
New York Valentine’s Day
At 6pm last night, it seemed that every other man on the street held a bouquet of flowers. Men poured out of the one flower shop I passed and lines for bodega flowers stretched out on the the street. I imagine the Valentines they are hurrying home to and it makes me smile.
I watched a well dressed couple walking down 10th Avenue, him in a well fitting grey suit, she opting for bare legs and scarlet strappy sandals. In the 15 seconds it takes them to walk down the block and pass me, I drink in how happy they look together. Where are their dinner reservations? How long they’ve been dating? I’ll never know. But I’m damn sure they had a great night.
I do this every year. I adore people watching and February 14th is prime. Vicarious Valentine’s Days have been my jam since 2013. Traditionally, it’s a bitter sweet activity. One taking me took to my wallflower days when I constantly stood on the sidelines watching everyone else having fun, wondering if my time would ever come.
