VD is for everyone

I'm getting this one out of the way now, early on, so you don't have to spend your day worrying about my feelings on VD. Instead, you can enjoy yourself with a loved one, or you can spend it being bitter and lashing out at all the commercial signs of a love you wish you had. Whatever.

I am not diametrically opposed to VD, unless it really is an actual VD and is incurable and bumpy and nasty. I think it's great that people are reminded at least once a year (although let's face it, you shouldn't need a reminder) that they love someone. I like this day because I get to spend it acting bitter and saying charming things like, "Fuck flowers, stupid Hallmark, you have a sick case of VD, don't touch me," etc, and no one can say anything about it. They just chuckle, thinking, "Oh, that MB. Being single must suck!"

I disagree. All you couples on VD have to think of something that's not contrived, that really means something to your loved one. You have to work hard, be creative, and come up with a gift that isn't silly and is actually sincere—all while pretending, for the sake of your single friends, that this day is not a big deal.
It is a big deal, to everyone. This is the day I can complain about dying alone and shake my fist at marketing tactics. It's a holiday for me as much as you, just a slightly different kind. And people still give me chocolate so I'm not missing out anyway.

By the way, it is hailing tiny ice balls outside—tickly!
Also, if I ever were to be in love and want a mushy poem taped to my bathroom mirror, this one would be it. So, you know, uh, Happy Valentine's Day.

By ee cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands