Valentine - 1. Chapter 1

Every year it’s the same. As I stroll down the high street on this bitter winter afternoon, I observe the hoards of brainwashed sheep, skipping around at the last minute buying gifts for their significant others. Everywhere you look, it's the same tacky displays, the same vicious red tones, the same commercial bullshit we see every year. You go into any record store, and its identical crap in different packaging, that oddly resembles last year's offerings. Cards proclaiming undying love are crammed onto the shelves, of those sent I wonder, how many are genuine assertions of affection? Heart shaped chocolate boxes are quickly snapped up, ironically by guys who look at the fat ass of their other half, and wonder when things started to so south.

What is today really all about? Love? You have got to be kidding me. It's about retailers making a killing, selling cheap shit that nobody would look twice at any other day of the week. It's about husbands making futile gestures one day out of the year, probably in the vain hope of covering up some extra marital activity. It's about giggling schoolgirls comparing cards that most have bought for themselves, with only the lucky few having one that is genuine. Which, no doubt, was sent by some horny boy that only wants a quick roll in the sack. It's about restaurants hiking up the prices for a set menu, which most of us would baulk at any other time of the year, but, are seemingly quite happy to pay, because today, after all, is special. It's about florists who make a fortune on selling a product that will last less than five days, before it's thrown in the garbage with everything else you bought. It's about guys with a permanent hard on, doing what it takes to get a piece of ass before the day is through. It's about women who want to be wined and dined, who then give it up to aforementioned horny guys.

But what does this day mean to me? Nothing. For me today is not special, today is a day I despise. As I look round, I wonder what these people would know about genuine feelings or a true bond. How could they possibly know what it's really like to wake up every morning, gazing into the eyes of the one person who could make you get hard with just a wink or a smile? Do they even know what it's like to soar whilst your limbs are intertwined with your man, your chest moving in sync with his? I wonder if they finish off each other's sentences, or know what each other is thinking with just a look. Do they smile at the slightest touch or get lost in a kiss that consumes them from the inside out? Do they feel that everything is right in the world when their lover's arms wrap them in a warm embrace? Does their other half's presence ease the foul mood from a bad day? Do they know when their partner is near or is in pain? Like hell they do.

Have they ever seen the man they would die for, stabbed in front of their eyes? I wonder if they know what it's like to cradle the head of their soul mate as he takes his last breath, or if they've had his blood seeping through their fingers as his body chills in the damp air. Have they ever experienced seeing his once bright eyes fade to dull oblivion in just a moment? Do they know the anguish, pain or the darkness of losing that soul that was so intertwined with theirs? Do they know what it's like to truly die inside, to feel nothing, knowing the best of them has slipped away? I wonder if they know what it's like living life just for the sake of it, or to have their hopes, dreams and aspirations snatched away in a single moment.

I know, because on this day, three years past, I lived that.