Realizing on this day, this kind of day where I once wanted to kill myself (not literally, but you know what I mean), that there is something special about celebrating Valentine's Day. We don't do much. I left a card this morning. I just got his after returning home from a movie - which I'd gone to alone. Threw a fresh batch of baked ziti in the oven, then left home before either of my guys returned home from school. One a professor, the other in 11th grade.
At the movies I sat between two couples my own age. On the left, married 25 years. On the right, more like 7. But they each snuggled and held hands. The couple on the right choosing that moment to exchange their cards, one store bought, the other, handmade. When you're single, and you hear about the drought of a long term marriage, you want to believe that it's true. But it's not, for the lucky few of us. I didn't get babe looks, a photographic memory, or stellar talent, but I got a Valentine, who 25 years later, still makes my heart beat faster.
Happy Valentine's Day