I remember making a Valentine card for the boy I liked in my class. His name was Justin and we were probably about eight or nine — it’s so long ago I can’t really remember. But I can see the card — it had a big red heart on the front (of course) and I dowsed it in perfume. It reeked to high heaven. I left the card by his coat peg. I don’t remember if he responded (unlikely) but I remember it felt good to tell that sweet blonde-haired boy who was good at football how I felt.
There have been many Valentine cards sent and received over the years. I remember our last Valentine’s Day dinner, eight years ago. I remember our conversation, the wine, his hand on my thigh. I remember the long kiss standing outside the front door before heading inside to bed, to the solace of each other’s arms. Three weeks later he was dead. No more cards, none I can see with my eyes, anyway. But I know he’s here today, my old companion from another lifetime.
I have known big love, and I am sure I will know it again. I have no one to buy a Valentine card for today, and none are coming through my door, but I am perfectly okay with that. I have my own sweet company, and that is a lot, my friends.
To me, that is everything.
Happy Valentine’s Day x