(2.14.18) Valentine

On this day when the whole country is sending a massive Valentine to corporate America and its imaginary cherubs and hothouse flowers and candy made by enslaved children who will never receive a bouquet of roses in their entire lives, always there must be others who are lonely, whose hearts are broken, who are in love with the wrong people, who are in love with too many people, who love so much they’re terrified, who love so little they’re terrified, who grieve a love gone too soon or already on the way out of this gorgeous, temporary world.

Oh, my beloveds, please remember this: whatever the world seems determined to tell you on this day for love that shuts you out, you are not alone. We are, all of us, made for each other.

You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we were both made for the grieving widow and the friendless child and the homeless man sleeping in the sunny library chair and the tired barista just barely leaning her hip against the counter and the teenager sneaking a smoke in the parking lot and the woman in high heels pumping gas and the cyclist pedaling head-down in the whoosh of passing traffic and the bored checkout clerk and the irritated mother whose child will not put on her shoes and the fog-breathed lineman in the bucket high above branches just on the verge of breaking into bud.