There will be no public declarations of true love, for that special Valentine’s Day treat, that one day of the year when you make ritual overtures to a special someone. For romance is largely dead.
There will be no dressing up, no going out and no special effort, not today, not ever. For romance is largely dead.
There is nothing special today, nothing heart shaped or lace trimmed. For romance is largely dead.
So what to choose? I choose you. I choose love.
Love isn’t romance. It’s not hiding behind pretense and custom. It’s not a card and flowers, panic bought out of duty during a lunch break from work. Love isn’t papering over the cracks for one day a year to demonstrate, as an exception, appreciation.
Love sees when the other is a seething, spitting mess and will not turning away. Love makes every act of kindness, each moment of patience without judgment, each and every time we set aside annoyance. Love sees exactly who is there in front of us, just as they are. Love sees history for what it is, embracing the baggage and unpacking it together.
Love tears at your soul, if you’re lucky, in ways that mean growth. Love brings down walls of its own accord, not seeking to change but to understand completely. Love it is a novaturient process, a renewal, a fresh blossoming of hope in life. Love sees every imperfection in detail and pulls it closer, treasuring every flaw. Love looks into the eyes and beyond their beauty, reaches within to the depths of fear and self hate and holds them close in the dark.
Love is two hands held together, as they ought to have been always.
I choose you, I choose love.