A tradition where one goes out and spends patience, money, and romantic hoplessness on another person. People will risk losing it all, getting their heart broken, fighting for the last single rose just to make a pretty girl smile and say I love you. Why?
Here's a story, grab some coffee and have a listen.
I'm an extremely happy person. I love a ton of things. I like lady bugs, flamingos, snakes, and octopus. I prefer cake to pie, cuddling to kisses, and truth to a pretty lie. I like cherry trees and swing sets, clove cigarettes and tattoos. I'm a strange, obtuse, difficult puzzle, but at the same time, I'm extremely simple.
I enjoy so many things, but I would give them all for one simple, over-hyped thing.
I love love. I could bathe in it, drown in it and still be alive
but all things come with a cost.
I've had many a loving man. tall men, short men, sane men, and crazy men. They have all told me they loved me, and the majority said it just to get something. Whether that something was a kiss, a lay, or just the simple feeling of not being alone, that little four letter word will get them that thing.
love. marriage. It's what you're born for. Read any fairy tale; there is love. Listen to a preacher; there is love. Have a pet or hobby, and we start to love it. There is love everywhere every day, every hour, every minute. Someone could be dying, but their family is there. Someone is being born, into loving open arms. I could toss more pretty sentences at you, but my fingers are getting tired.
When I was eleven years old, my Mommy and Daddy sat me down and spelled out the big scary D word. I didn't understand. What eleven year old would? I remember crying, but I couldn't tell you why. My mom worked morning shifts, so our dad would take us to school in our old, beat up El Camino and listen to oldies and talk radio. We always got there early, I remember thinking it was so cool. James and I found everything that little radio said funny. I remember loving those mornings, but not because my dad was there. It was James.
You see, up until a few years after the divorce, my dad never took anything for his anger. Thankfully he hasn't had a drink since before my sister was conceived, but his anger was vicious. James and I would make a break for the back door (I of course would take a minute to remove shoes and socks) and we would dash out to the back yard to collect Caterpillar, harass neighbors, swing, climb, or ruin our dads afternoon nap.
I remember waking up an angry Jim Gaines so many times, but the one time I remember the best wasn't the 'what I did to get it', but the aftermath.
I was in the corner of my room, in complete silence and tears, holding my cheek and crying uncontrollably. I remember what I thought at that moment.
"Daddy doesn't love me."
Love. He didn't show love to me, to James, to Julianna, or to mom. He loved naps, old cars, and wrestling on TV.
I don't think I felt love from my dad until I was about... seventeen. We were going to car shows a lot, and I liked it for the hot dogs, little shops, tattooed people, and James. One morning, when it was way too early to function, my dad held my hand like he used to, with his thumb, pointer and middle finger, just holding my pointer, and that moment I knew my dad loved me.
Love is so sacred, so simple, so complex, and so taken advantage of.
Just savor it when you have it, please, and when it's gone, and you know it's gone?
Go find new love.