As the Valentine’s season approaches and love is in the air, the repetitive pity thrown around in phrases like “don’t worry, your time will come,” “someone’s made for you, it’s just not your time yet.” Not to mention all the “you’re pretty,” “you’re so nice,” “you’re exceptional,” with a silent “but” following behind, dancing in the air. And don’t even get me started on the festivities to come, obsession reeks in the air from people vying for a tangible bouquet of something more than just compliments.
For this Valentine’s Day, I want a big heart-shaped tin can filled with assorted chocolate truffles. I don’t like chocolate, by the way.
I love Love, don’t get me wrong., it’s extremely powerful and strong, it’s what keeps a lot of us going. I have so much of it to give yet I’m stranded with no one to hold, not even a memory to stand by. So I dedicate this piece to those of us who gift the flowers, but never receive them; to the ones who love and love hard without remorse; to those who have never heard or felt an “I love you too”; to those who have never gotten to say “this one… this one worked out.” I know I’m not alone in thisーthe amount of beautiful friends that I’ve had the misfortune to share this experience with are just as dumbfounded as me.
Here’s the deal, my experience with love and the very concept of having a love life has just not worked out for me. The stories I could tell… And my god have I tried, but all I seem to get are dead ends. After giving away my warmth, neatly folded in a handmade cardigan, the days are left to be so cold. The realization has come to me that I have truly loved everyone that I’ve loved before. Let it be passing by or years lingering, the love I felt for them and the need to be needed by them in the same way are never gone. For a long time before I got to this point of slight peace and irritating self-awareness because of my failed romantic endeavors, there was a lot of resentment and confusion.
The latest one took a huge toll on me, the one before that still actively haunts my decision-making process to this day, and the one way way way before quite literally altered my brain chemistry.
With all of these lessons learned and the ones yet to come, I’m still willing to fill my ribs with I miss you’s left unsaid.
Honestly guys, I feel like we were cheated here, growing up watching movies that left us wishing for the sparks. Where are the promises the rom-coms made? The serendipity is premeditated, the crazy, stupid “oh, it’s just complicated.” The ten days have passed and I’m here, we are here, realizing that the loneliness of grieving in the melancholic pool of wanting to want and being wanted in return is nothing short of a nostalgic emptiness that cannot be fed.
I’m hungry.
I have such an insatiable hunger to be loved and needed. It blinds me to not realize how much of it I can give myself in the process. It honestly makes me feel like I have gone mad.
The madness does not come from the love, but from the wanting and the yearning, the inevitable and inexplicable ache that comes with being a stranger to reciprocity.
Love me, please.
Love me.
Love me like the French do, without inhibitions, between cigarettes, coffee, and long museum walks.
