Thanks, but No Thanks, Mr. Valentine
Don’t love me on the 14th of February. Love me on all 365 days, quietly
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I’m unpopular for not believing in Valentine’s Day. I‘ve been that way ever since I found the perfect definition of love written between the pages of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina:
“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”
When you find the one you can see without even looking, you know that love has found you. It’s when you stop needing a special day in a year to celebrate your love. Because you celebrate it 365 days a year already, and you do it with your eyes wide closed.
I’ve found myself the man who doesn’t need to look long at me to see me. Or maybe he found me. It doesn’t matter. One thing I know for sure is that only those who are unsure of and insecure about their love will feel the need to pick a day to celebrate it. Everyone else is doing it one day at a time, day after day.
If you’re not there yet, these rambling thoughts of mine aren’t to make you feel bad about it. Just a humble, unsolicited nudge to let you in on a secret: celebrating Valentine’s day is a waste of time.
True love is in all the small things you do, day in, day out, week after week, month after month, until you find yourself unable to remember on what date exactly is your anniversary. And true love is quiet, like the sun you see without looking at. It needs no rainbows, hearts, candies, outrageously expensive lingerie, or ring for sex bells.
If you hear bells, of any kind, not just the ones playing as an invitation between the sheets, you’d better follow Erich Segal’s advice and get your ears checked. He knows better. After all, the guy wrote Love Story.
