Valentine's Note

It has come again as it did last year.  A day of warmth in the midst of winter when Cupid’s arrow lets loose and affections fly.  A day for young love, and old love that still burns young. A day for poems and sweets… and other treats.  A day for glowing stares and longing glares, young love is in the air.

But when does young love stop being… young?  When it’s owners have passed the age or when the love itself begins to grown?  Have we passed the days my dear, my love, that we must succumb to the world’s design and proclaim an elder love?  No, I say, not yet, not now, not in my time, not in yours!

You see my dear, my love, maturity in life, as grand as it may be, cannot hold a candle to young loves naivety. Young love stretches the heart like never before, it pulls and strengthens and burns inside. It can be seen from a distance far, beaming and signalling all, like a lighthouse upon the sea. It intoxicates the owner, the holder, of that young love. It clouds the mind with honeyed thoughts and times yet to come.

  Young love, my dear, my love, it’s what I have... it’s what I give.  Twenty plus years has not grown more than a day in the eyes of that young love.  While we may grow mature in thought and deed, compassion and age, let our love never grow beyond that young stage.  That stage of love that cries out to be embraced, sought wholly and never fulfilled completely.

It’s a place, young love, where everyday trials can disappear, swept away and replaced.  Replaced with a joy, with a hope, with a song in the heart that drowns out the noise of the world.  So stay with me here, my dear, my love, in this state of young love, far away from the age that so many hearts endure.

Let them keep their “mature” love, with it’s oft dampened soul,  with its lackluster looks and days that grow old. Rail with me here, turn against the mundane.  We’ll stay lost in young love long after our bodies have aged...

Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear, my love,

- C