At the store near the toy department I’m itching to buy Darusya either a dragon or a unicorn. And in a moment I become aware that you can buy these… but how will you give them to her? I wish victory to all of us. And the reunification of families. Mordor must die."
A few days ago, Ruslan Gorovyi wrote these golden words for the granite-worthy souls of moms and dads, who now are forced not to see their own children. And I remembered.
I remembered how, on a cold February morning, Andrii Piven and I were telling each other about leaving Kyiv, about the nuances of the road, how long it was, its difficult moments. Everything was different. But the similarity was impressive -- both of us, he and I, shaking, would buy our children toys at every gas station. Any toys.
Our wifes might have looked at this without fully understanding, but both of us knew that really soon the moment of long-term separation would come. This is exactly what happened.
And I also remembered: That I would spend a good hour in the toy section of the supermarket, learning and choosing some colorful toys. Now I make every effort to bypass them, for I have no strength to look at what I have little sense to buy.
And today Mark got a cart for a present. So that he would give it back later. Cool, it’s radio-controlled. And what can one say? Russia has to perish. With its fools and its roads. So that in its stead there would be a gigantic sandbox where Mark and I would go and play. This would be justice, I think. Mordor must die.