This year, my love and I will be celebrating Valentine’s Day together for the first time in years.  We haven’t had the best of relationships as of late; small disagreements turn into big problems with those one shares a deep connection with.  However, I’m proud to announce that we have begun to look past out differences and are now committed to make it work.  

It won’t be anything monumental, considering we’re both elbow deep in a career path.  Since we’re working professionals now, our time together will be limited to an evening.  Seeing the one you love grow up and turn into the adult is almost comical when you grow up with them.  Even though you know he’s an  accomplished, functioning members of society, it’s hard to shake off those wasted faces and dangerous antics, all done with a smile and healthy disregard to any and all “adult-like” stuff.  The pressed slacks and button downs would make you snicker and remember how you fell in love to begin with.  

It’s going to be a little unorthodox; there will not be dinner and chocolates.  We’re as committed to our good health as we are to each other.  Instead, we’re going to treat ourselves to a good sweat at the gym.  Our regiment is balancing both our expectations; he wants to tone up, while I want to get slimmer.  Tuesday is our core work out day, so we will be planking and thinking about chocolate lava cake while our abdominals scream for the cessation of such cruelty.

After this, we will shower and throw on our most disgusting, tattered sweatpants and shirt.  Then we will curl up on the couch and watch Wuthering Heights, while telling each other how appreciated we are silently.  As Cathy fights to maintain her love of Heathcliff, we will remember our fights and battles.  While Heathcliff pleadingly begs for Cathy, we will remember how much we need each other.  I will sit there with my love, holding hands in the way only we can, and smile.  It is a warm smile, coming from a secure place, as sleep will begin to overcome me at around the time Cathy becomes pregnant and the tone of the story changes forever.  

• (you can’t write this.  they’re going to realize what you’re talking about and then
• you’re going to look like that pathetic “oh look at me, i just got out of a serious
• relationship and i’m coming to terms with being a single spinster and i don’t miss
• him at all, but i will passive aggressively allude to him and my heart ache”… kind
• of girl.  we make fun of people like that.  don’t be that guy. you’re going to come off as
• pathetic with a capital PATH.)

I don’t care and would appreciate if you would let me express myself.  This criticism is stifling and just rude.  And you and I both know it’s never about him anymore. 

(what-fucking-ever.  you know i’m right.  just because your therapist thinks you should write more doesn’t mean its a good fucking idea.  no one’s going to get it.  just stop now.)

Ok, so we’re not perfect.  He’s always going to censor me, and I’m always going to fight it, and it may lead to an explosion from time to time.  I strive for temperament to counteract swinging from extremes.  Yin and yang.  He and I.  Teetering between what’s dark and light.  Am I the swing and he the force?  Or maybe I just enjoy the ride and he dictates my ups and downs.  It’s never up enough, is it you little shit. 

I’m not perfect and neither is he.  We have a fractured history.  I hate him and love him, but hate him a lot.  Sometimes what I need is not what he wants; sometimes I don’t have the motivation to serve him properly.  I neglect and tug and just roll over.  Sometimes its just such a strain.

Loving someone is not easy.  All those poems and stories and songs on the radio is a crock of bullshit (see? bitter spinster bitch again) It’s true, and I’m not sorry.   

Digression done.  Back to my scene.  Through all the good and all the terrible, in the end he’s all I have.  I’ve ignored him and abused him, and he’s isolated me and let others abuse me.  I pound on him and he criticizes me, and sometimes he makes me sob.  But tomorrow night, I will nod off with the love of my life, while watching a movie that makes me want to rip my heart out and put it on a silver plate to express the emotions it evokes.  I will hold hands in a way that no one else can and sigh and fight sleep, enveloped in security and warmth.  

I will not always be good to you, and I will disagree.  Sometimes I’ll cocoon and forget you exist all together.

But I love you and am not ashamed to admit that now.  To 26 years together, with 26 more, and just for good measure, 26 more again.  I love you, Leah.  Happy Valentine’s Day.

(you’re an idiot.  no one will get it.  it sounds ridiculous.  but i love you more.)

This is why your vocab and grammar count.  :)

Welcome… 

This is just about right.