VALENTINE’S DAY — NOT OUR HOLIDAY

We never discussed it. Not a single conversation. We don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. We haven’t in the past and don’t now. It’s a fake holiday, designed to sell greeting cards and tacky heart-shaped diamond pendants from jewelry mass marketers.

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There are plenty of real holidays to celebrate. In any case, we don’t need a special holiday to say “I love you.”

I love Garry. He loves me. We’ve loved each other a long time and I expect we always will. We say so often. At least once every day. Even when we aren’t having a good day. True love survives bad days, even bad months and sometimes, bad decades.

Cupid is stupid.

(That’s a poem. Just a very short one.)

WE DON’T CELEBRATE VALENTINE’S DAY

It wasn’t something we had to discuss. Neither of us has ever celebrated Valentine’s Day. To us, it’s a manufactured “Hallmark Holiday.” So we don’t participate. I have no problem with your participation, but I have a problem with what a big deal it has become. I have a problem with making people feel guilty for choosing to not join in.

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I love my husband and he loves me. We tell each other every day. Maybe, because this year is … different … perhaps we will tell each other more often. But not because it’s Valentine’s Day.

Because we love each other. Every day.

A Poem for Lovers on Valentine’s Day

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How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

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