Valentine's Day

On Valentines Day of all days, it was a day most dreaded by her.
She was fit, cute, smart but love, for her, never seemed to start.
She had friends, best friends, acquaintances, and occasional stalkers.
She had love pressed close to her heart; this love was a zest for life,
not the hugging, kissing, wooing dance that we know as romance.

She always wondered why her valentine’s days were so loveless and blank.
She’d stop and stare at every flaunting couple,
Being a window-shopper on love’s aisle.

She bought a box of chocolates and opened them at home.
She pretended Prince Charming bought them for her,
having a conversation
with the invisible future groom.

Her friends had all said she was alone
because she thought she was too good for any man.
That wasn’t the case.
She just never bothered with the scum she attracted.
She urged them to make haste.

This was her 24^th valentines day alone.
She had given into it always being this way.

She’d walked towards her apartment,
There she noticed a note on the door.
She sighed and thought it was the rent
but then she gave it a read,

Poetry by an admirer

To my true love,
Who knows not a single love spark,
Know that I see your lonesome eyes
And wish to fill them with a romance true.
My heart is floating on your lips,
Longing with all my being
To feel their lusciousness.
I give my heart to you this Valentine's Day.
If only you will take such a small offering
from such an unworthy soul
who dreams of melding our hearts entwined.

She snickered and said to herself, “Yeah, he’s unworthy alright.”
But her curiosity seeped in slowly.

Then her rational side kicked in,
“It says nothing else,
“No time to meet,
“No 'will you be my valentine?'”

“A prank,” she huffed,
until she found a second note

Poetry by an admirer

This note is a further offering of my devotion.
My very breath depends on your acceptance of my love.
I wish only for your affection
And for us to exist.

Attached was a red rose, and the message,
“Meet me at the gondola at 7pm.”

She began taking the note seriously, her heart racing with possibilities.
She thought, “I’ll make this creep give up.”
She decided to go.

She saw a co-worker, Mark, there.
He came from out of the shadows.

She immediately said, “Mark, hmm, I didn’t think of you as the poetic type.”

Mark was handsome and funny.
They’d both excited each other at the office before.

She said, “Do me a favour … love me and just don’t go dying early like Keats.”

He pledged his admiration for her and they sat with each other,
for the first Valentine’s Day she ever wanted to remember.