To My Love on Valentine’s Day:
You wanted to meet a “cool chick.” I wanted a guy who was equal parts monkey and maturity. So we both cast our nets and look what we caught! I don’t do drama; you don’t either. I’d rather shoot spitballs through a straw in a booth at IHOP. Because you dig that too, we manage to work in a world where relationships are so damn difficult.
Your mind is a spreadsheet, careful and precise. My life is a kaleidoscope, colorful and prismatic. I’m in the clouds. You’re on the ground. But somehow we always meet in the middle. I love you for all the ways we’re different, and because you appreciate my recklessness, adore my messy morning hair, and always have your hand out — reaching for mine.
When we started out, I was cautious, still bearing scars and clutching cynicism. There we were making small talk, ears perked and eyes searching for red flags. You thought I was “out there,” I thought you were stiff. And then you did that one thing that changed everything: you buttered my bread. In that seemingly ordinary gesture, I saw your chivalry. I saw your attentive nature and your integrity. That small act gave me a glimpse into your soul. Some might say it was meaningless, but I understood as I do every time we’re together: simple acts of kindness are symbolic. My heart is a keen observer, and I knew then that buttered bread was so much more than food. That was the first of a million little love offerings you’d extend along the way…
So here we are on Valentine’s Day, with trinkets and chocolates to give. But without love, all of our gifts are meaningless. So I’ll give you something more, something that’s so significant to me: words. They’ve helped me navigate the rough roads. So often when I’ve wondered how to think or feel, words have helped me unravel life’s layers as well as the layers of my own heart. Words are my home. Words are my world. Words are my way.
So, my dear, with my words and with love, I give you this poem. I hope it feels like a gift…
Love does not belong to us.
It bubbles like a brook, rolling over rock and bathing the dry clay of our lives.
It nourishes, refreshes, restores and regenerates.
It begs to be held though it has no form.
Love takes the shape it is given, a great expanse or a single drop, dancing on a petal in the wind.
Love is shallow. Love is deep.
It has the power to soothe or shatter, to cling to the crusts of the earth and yet remain a separate entity.
Love envelops without binding; it smothers flames yet may be scorched by the sun in the heat of an afternoon.
I do not give you love, rather I offer myself unto it, to be taken with its tide.
I do not wade in its inches; I dive into its depths.
I allow every crevice of my life and heart to be washed by its substance.
I surrender to its rippling motion, sweeping passage, surge and swell.
Within love’s ebb and flow I promise to be stung, scoured, cleansed, transformed… for you.