I am going away to London with my beloved for Valentine’s weekend. I’m writing this as I try, impossibly, to finish everything I have to do before I leave; before I run to his warmth and forget my work, my blog, my fears, my hopes, my name. Last night I stayed up until half three, making a gift for him. I woke up at 7 to work. That is what love is. We had an argument yesterday, something that he feared would break us up. I was angry, I was hurt; I wasn’t sure that I could cope with the all the bullshit that you have to deal with when you’re in a relationship, trying to build a life together. But while we were texting our bitter accusations and retorts, I was sitting on my bed, making his Valentine’s gift. And later, when we got off the phone, exhausted from our conversation, unsure of our future, I went straight back to my spot under a pile of artsy materials, and I stayed there, making this thing that I hope will give him a glimpse of how much I love him. Because I knew that as soon as today came, and I got to see him walking towards me, for me, because I am the one he waits for, that nothing else would really matter. And I would want to show him, in any way I can, how much he means to me.
This is the very first Valentine’s that I’ve had someone to really celebrate it with, so we’re going all out. I don’t care if it’s uncool, which I’m sure it must be. I will never regret being uncool, and in love.
Here, have a song.