No, I’m not going to talk about diseases.

Nor do I intend to rail, rant, and rave about the disease that I think Valentine’s Day is. I know. It’s a tradition. I’ve been doing it for years, in a string of online blogs, and email exchanges with dear friends. Let’s break tradition.

I know some people still believe in love. Why blow it for the poor saps while they’re still happy? They don’t need ME to harsh their mellow. That will come of its own accord sooner or later.

So… enjoy hearts and flowers. Enjoy candlelight. Hopefully, somebody, somewhere is being adored by the person they adore most. Maybe it’s you. Good for you.

Because I’m not. And I doubt I ever will be again. I’m still not okay with that idea; probably never will reconcile with it. I can still smile. It’s just a little more weak, a little more watery around the eyes, slightly less open. Battered animals are slightly more timid and cautious ever after.

Red. The color of blood. And pink. The color of rent flesh. The colors that bring to mind the state of my heart after a man who swore he loved me more than anyone reached in, ripped it out, threw it on the floor, stomped around on it gleefully, then ground it under his heel for good measure.

Still, in the spirit of the day… or, at least, the spirit of what the day has become, I offer what follows.

Be happy. Gaze into that loved one’s eyes and drown there. Touch. Hold. Connect and don’t let go.

When you’re in the thick of it… it’s glorious. I remember. A bit too vividly for comfort.

And if you need more Valentine goodness, click the “Valentines Year Round” link over in the “Categories” box, or check out the Valentines Year Round on my old blog site. I’m sharing vintage Valentines weekly (when I remember), until I run out of new ones to scan. Some of them are more than 80 years old. Cynic that I am, even I find them to be sweet and entertaining. (And they make me think of my beloved Grandmother, who also lived the majority of her adult life without the person she adored most. She was a phenomenal human being. I can be, too.)

Edit:

For those of you who think I’m wallowing in the despair and futility of it all… well, I WILL admit I’m wearing all black today in honor of those who have fallen (to that barbarian, Cupid’s, arrows, and to the corporate machinations of greeting card companies who have commandeered romance and cheapened gestures of caring to the price of a card or stuffed animal), but I’m also wearing pretty pink things beneath all that black. I’m not completely hopeless, ya know.