WARNING: This blog becomes terribly mushy and love-centric at roughly the halfway point. Feel free to skip this one, unless your name is Danielle and you find me devilishly handsome and you are, in fact, sleeping in the next room right now.
Valentine’s Day is a tricky thing. It is a day that wears many masks, none of them absolute, none of them cemented in certainty.
To children, it is a day to receive handmade cards professing undying love (or at the very least, a love that will last until lunch) and tiny candy hearts or chocolate cupids.
To teenagers, Valentine’s Day represents a golden opportunity to finally admit to feelings that they may feel uncomfortable saying aloud every other day of the year.
However, once we reach adulthood, it dons two completely different, yet equally renowned masks:
For some of those who have no one special in their life with which to share Valentine’s Day, it takes on an appearance that is widely considered to be “the enemy”. It is a source of constant reminders that you are, in fact, alone and that you feel that you will remain, in fact, alone for the rest of your days and really, how fucking dare those people who are in committed relationships prance around in front of you all god damn day?
(there are also those who are not in committed relationships, yet still enjoy Valentine’s Day, and are considered to be generally happy, well-rounded individuals)
To those who are betrothed in some way to another person whom they love, it’s a day set aside to make that person feel as special as possible. To say to this person “You are my everything and I would be absolutely and terribly lost without you” and just generally shower them with gifts and beg them not to leave you.
For many years, I was stuck somewhere between these two. There were women I’d loved before, women I’d bought trinkets and candy for, but never anyone quite like Danielle. Danielle converted me from another Hawaiian shirt wearing, muttonchop having, misguided fool with an almost militant despondence toward Valentine’s Day into the dapper Prince Charming carrying a five foot tall teddy bear you see before you.
April will mark the fifth year of being romantically linked to the woman who is currently sleeping in the next room, making this our fourth Valentine’s Day together. This year, there is no $200 bouquet of flowers (though I fought to order them anyway, she won out and insisted we spend our money elsewhere), no lavish box of chocolates, no dinner and a movie style night on the town. It’s just us, at home, dressed in our most comfortable clothing, huddled together under a warm blanket, not entirely for reasons of warmth, and enjoying each other’s company.
I still managed to buy her a much simpler set of roses, as well as a teddy bear that is, quite literally not lying here, the same size as the woman who received it. In place of expensive chocolates, she settled for some of her favorite ice cream, as to not miss out on an opportunity to indulge in an entire week’s worth of calories (but damn, wasn’t it worth it?), and as to allow me to feel as though I can still spoil her completely.
So today will be spent quite simply: On the couch with my (much)better half, watching anime and making sure she has everything she needs. Which is, frankly, how we spend most days anyway.
Danielle, my love, I was still able to shower you with gifts. And though I tell you this on a nearly daily basis the entire year round; You are my everything and I would be absolutely and terribly lost without you.
I’m not going to beg you not to leave me, however. Because, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, you’re stuck with me now. No, no. It’s far too late, I’m afraid. Five years of ups, and those ups were fantastic, and downs, which were terrible though we tolerated them as we knew many more amazing ups were coming down the way.
I wouldn’t trade a single tear, a single laugh, a single second of it for anything in this world or those beyond it.
I love you so damn much and I hope that I can make every day Valentine’s Day for you.