This year, we're broke. I've been on the phone all day today trying to get last year's pledge money back because those flowers went and died on us. Commie lib-lab roses.
And the sumptuous dinner is out because we are smack dab in the middle of a major "lifestyle change(don'tsaydiet don'tsaydiet don'tsaydiet).
And I'd write her a love poem but words fail me where she's concerned.
Yeah, her skin is snow and raspberries.
And sure, her eyes are jungle foliage overlaid with sea glass.
And it's true that her lips are full, sweet plums.
But her. She. The beauty of her. Her soul. The description of that is what eludes me. The best I can do is: you ever see a scene in a movie when someone opens a suitcase or treasure chest and they are bathed in the glow of that treasure? Or maybe it's more like turning your face to the sun after a long cold winter? Or bathing in a warm, clean, steaming, pond fed by hot springs.
No, that last one is how I feel when she touches me, but it's not her.
Maybe it's like that feeling you get when you've been gone a long time and you finally come home.
Anyway, I don't know how to put it. All I know is that I love her and that I am obscenely lucky.
So, I still had to do something for her for Valentine's Day. We don't have any money, words fail me, as does my waistline. What's left?
Construction paper. There is always construction paper.
Happy Valentine's Day, my love. I love you from the tips of my clumsy-but-well-meaning-fingers to the bottom of my clumsy-but-well-meaning-heart.
Love,
Me
