So, Valentine's Day, you pink, fluffy and, ironically, heartless bastard. Hated by couples who rue its commercialisation. Hated by couples who say, 'We don't do Valentine's Day, it's pointless' because usually one of them doesn't think this and the other one secretly knows it. Hated by the newly heartbroken, because they hate everything at the moment, even breathing in and out. Hated by the long-term singletons, because they are either hardened cynics or devoid of hope. And hated by committed singletons, like me, because no matter how determinedly you remain uncoupled, nothing makes you feel lonely and unloved like a whole day that screams, 'YOU ARE ALONE! BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING FLOWERS.'
This is not to say Valentine's Day as half of a couple has always gone well for me. Standing out in my memory as a Valentine's Day particularly lacking in romance was the one when my boyfriend decided that instead of spending the evening with me, he'd join his mates to attend a concert across the country at the arse end of nowhere. I bemoaned this fact to my best friend. He said, 'I tell you what. I'll take you out.' He took me to watch Tranmere Rovers.
This Valentine's Day will be better than that.
This morning I saw this quote online: If I had to choose between loving you and breathing, I would use my last breath to say 'I love you'. I would like to watch that person taking their last breath, the stupid bastard.
Another quote said, 'Love will light up the darkness.' Buy a torch, idiot. You can even get one on your phone, so you can light up the darkness AND play Color Switch, whilst lying diagonally across the bed. A win-win-win situation.
I nearly bought an anthology of romantic poetry the other day, just to remind myself of how fucking awful love is. But then I thought, no, I can write my own romantic poem. Surely. And I was right. It only took four hours and a box of Milk Tray that I ate with my face.
Love: A Finite Solution
First you feel it touch your skin
Like a caress
Then an embrace
Comforting
And then little by little
You feel invincible.
Love is
Like having a fortress.
A really, really big one.
Love whispers through your hair
Like wind
What's that, Love?
You'll keep me warm
And safe
And happy
Forever?
I knew you would.
Love draws you in
Closer
And closer
Until just when you think
There can't be any connection
More difficult to sever,
You get a joint mortgage.
There's no Hell on Earth
Like other people's friends.
Get used to Hell.
And snoring.
All those things
That used to be faults
And became 'quirks'
Turn out to be faults
After all.
I could list them
But instead just ask your mother
What she thought of your last partner.
She'll give you a list.
And then there's the socks
The fucking socks
In the bathroom
Or on the floor
Or on the feet
During sex.
DURING SEX.
Everywhere
Except the bloody laundry basket.
To be honest the socks were worse
Than the infidelity.
What is Love?
Baby, don't hurt me.
Said the great poet
Haddaway.
Did you listen, Love?
No.
No answers.
You just laughed
In Haddaway's face.
Love grumbles
And growls
And aches
In the stomach
Like wind.
What's that, Love?
You're going to embarrass me
In front of everyone?
I knew you would.
Fuck you, Love.
Fuck you.
I'm not playing the game
Anymore.
I'll just sit here
With a litre of ice cream.
Make yourself useful.
Get me a spoon.
A really, really big one.
Helen Keeler
Eat your heart out, Byron, you prick. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone x