To all the girls I’ve loved before:

Or, to all the girls who didn’t know I loved them before

Or, Please don’t arrest me.

Quoth my main man Eric:

The word Valentine was originally coined in 1450 AD and meant a person who was a lover, or friend that had been chosen for the upcoming year (to be sought after..). Today the meaning is slightly different, and refers to a lover or friend that need not be sought after, someone who is already engaged in such a way with you.

He’s wordy, I know. And that’s why I like him. But his valentine’s day quote got me thinking. And now that the big V is finally safe and past, like some toothsome beast slipped back underneath the current of the ocean… here we go.

I don’t like Valentine ’s Day very much. Now, this is mainly due to the fact that I’ve had very few good ones… due to timing, and extenuating circumstances. I imagine that if I had a lady fair to spend it with, I’d be more… appreciative. In a biblical sense. Mind you, I can’t really remember a particularly disastrous Valentine’s Day. I’ve never had a very memorable one, either. Most pass by, just another day on the way to forever. And my birthday. (I was born hella close to Valentine’s, so I often got bundle presents. Oh well.)

Like today. I woke up, worked, ate delicious sandwiches, fixed computers till 11:30 at night. It was pretty much every other day.

Enough about my personal itinerary. In the traditional sense, Valentine’s day has less to do with being with the one you love. (but if you can’t be… with the one you love, honey… love the one you’re with). It has more to do with the one you want to love. Which means… you guessed it… Stalkers! Here’s a group I adore! Hiding in alleys, breathing heavily, getting all hot and bothered. Gazing from a distance. Going over conversations never uttered, but for the fevered whispers in their heads. Crumpling papers, absently fondling strands of hair. Trying to cap Reagan. Here are what’s left of the world’s romantics; raving, stammering emotional zombies, turned away by a world that moves too fast. What is abandoned is of course corruptible.

Stalkers get a bad rap these days. Not without due cause, though. I mean… stabbing yourself while masturbating to a closet shrine of Fiona Apple can’t really be considered healthy. But there are those are made out to be stalkers… people who are so afraid of social stigma, or rejection, or physical intimacy, or what have you, that they have no choice but to admire from a distance. These people can’t profess their love! They’d be called creepy stalkers! Pity… Cry, O children of Man.

Now, back in the day… Stalkers got what was coming to them. Romeo… now here’s a hep cat that has no idea what’s going on. He’s in love with being in love, for god’s sake. And yet he managed to cross his stars with Juliet, and they totally pork a few times before tragically ending the relationship.

But we read Romeo and Juliet, and call it Romance. Romeo… is a lover. Not a stalker. Gone are the days of secret admirers, anonymous love letters, unlabeled gifts at your doors, the sense of thrill… that some eloquent someone is waiting in the wings, waiting for you to notice them. Those days were paved over… those days are done.

Who has time for that shit nowadays, right? Not Worker Bees John and Jane Q. they’ll do SpeedDating and online compatibility quizzes. Singles Mixers. Blind Dates. Strip all that unnecessary bullcrap out, they say! I don’t have time for it! I just need a man, a woman, I need them fast, and I need them now! I need a Tax Break! I need someone to help pay a mortgage! I need someone who is willing to hustle just as hard as I am, cause we’re a Motivated Generation! We’re Going Places! We’re Career Oriented! Where’s the lease for my VW? I need to spend a weekend… aw, shit.. I don’t know.

Everything’s going too fast.

Everything’s falling apart.

We all fall victim to this quickened, dangerous society. I find myself feeling an immediate need for a mate… and maybe it’s cause I’ve been out of that scene for a long time now. But it’s… so easy to soar out there. Take wing… send an email. Shit, carbon copy it. Talk to people thousands of miles away, instantly. And then forward them humourous links. Go on autopilot… wake up and find you’ve aged seven years. The speed at which we live our lives is like a drug… and it feels GOOD.

Maybe, for a second (if you can spare it), come inside here. The lighting’s dim. The jazz is low, and smooth. And the waiter might get to us eventually. But as you can see, he’s chatting up one of the cocktail girls. Let him be. We’re not in a rush, right? Just sit down in the dark leather chairs, feel yourself sink into the deepening cushions. Nice, right? Don’t listen to the fluttering outside… in here… it’s a steadier heartbeat, with maybe a little bit of swing.

Love… isn’t chemical. It’s not a formula. It’s not the shoes you wear, or whether or not you shaved, or put on makeup. Love isn’t presents… it isn’t jogging apparel, gym memberships, pagers, purposeful movement. Love is simply slowing down, and basking in the soft light of one another, and knowing that you’re looking into the eyes of someone who gives a damn, and knows how bad you snore, or how long it takes you to get that curl just right, but somehow, they understand, and see through to the real you.

I’ve had my fair share of crushes in the past, and even the present. I’m a distant admirer. I’ve always been intrigued by the concept of love… maybe even more than love itself. I’ve written letters that I never sent. I’ve watched people walk down aisles in white dresses, sitting less than comfortably in a church pew (I am decidedly unaccustomed to keeping still in the house of god). I don’t think I’m a stalker. But hey. Anything possible in an Age of Labels. So… if you’re out there… some prospective valentine…

I’ll say this, to no one in particular…

The way you sway when you walk is poetry… Eyes sparkling in the streetlight, (maybe blue, maybe hazel, hard to tell) under the yellow gold haze, you captivate me. I don’t know if you notice me noticing you, but maybe I’m just so wrapped up in your beauty that I can’t understand how your attention could be turned my way. I have dreamed of the shape of your teeth behind your lips, pressed fast against mine, and I smell fresh air, jasmine. I have felt the ghost of your form shift beside me, and I wake up wondering... I lay in a field, watching the summer stars, wishing your silhouette would blot them out, like an eclipse of the sky. I want to feel your heart beat in time with mine, and wonder how I got so lucky that our times could coincide. I wish for these moments to be true, and I wish for them to be remembered fondly, on an autumn walk, hand in hand. I want to see beyond the gifts and the fights, and the incompatibility, and realize that our lives are moments in sequence, and the ones worth remembering were the ones I spent with you.

Keep the thoughts… make love a more than annual occasion. Peace, kids; you are luckier than you think you are. For me… to bed, alone. Perhaps, perchance, o unknown valentine, we’ll dream about each other.