This past valentines day was spent sorrounded by all of my favorite things. The day actually started at dusk and there i was in a little dress and sparkling silver shoes complete with a tomboy haircut, thoroughly enjoying every minute! This year, i dedicate my valentine’s piece not to the market segment that febraury 14th has become branded and commercialized for, but to the lovers it ignores. Those who this season reminds of a love lost or wasted. Those who remember a love they never had or ever owned but one that tasted, tested, and had them.
This valentines my heart goes out to lovers who got stuck on the way and unable to figure it out, gave up and parted ways. My heart goes out to the hearts stuck in reverse praying a lost love back home. To the newcomer, finding himself, indeed herself, in a virgin place of vulnerablility; to the fearful afraid to take the plunge; to the unprepared shocked that so hard a thing could be demanded of them; and to the one who has been there and done that, and has now taken form in a cold heart banging the door firmly and finally on love.
My heart does not ignore the lover who is folded in a nurturing embrace where she has found her heart’s resting place, for i completely understand her. I know her joy, i muse at her abandon, i understand her smile and i recognise her rich laughter, no i don’t ignore her, not at all! She is standing in a rich place and standing tall, she is holding in her heart the very stuff that this world is made of. Loved by her prince whose heart and kingdom is laid to her claim, she can’t be ignored. Yes, i see her and the world sees her.
But what about the girl , the woman, the woman- girl who hides what lies beneath, what must not be known , what must not be seen? The one who scolds her desire like it’s a bastard child, turning her face adamantly away from it as though she was raped by love and now she hates it’s child- this bundle of weakening emotions that remind her of hungry thrusts that took and took and took.
I am writing for the disappointed who thought that love will be the missing link that makes life complete. I am writing for the true lover who came to love on a level ground and gave it 100% but found something else. Although it was called love, it manifested itself as selfish and one- sided. I am writing for the soul like a bruised reed bent in the wind, praying her broken heart wont break.
To the one who found herself ravaged like a house without gates. The one attacked by enemy forces banging against her walls of defense. With one last heave they reach her deepest, and all she hears is the eerie harmony of voices; his pitch with stolen pleasure, hers only cry, tears a last defense.
But God doesn’t sleep...
This season, i write for women on both sides of the valentine dream. For the woman experiencing the phantom and the woman experiencing the phantasy of valentine. For the woman ensconced and the woman scorned. For the woman fallen in love and the woman fallen out of love.
At the end of the day, it is not about how we have been loved but about how we have loved – wrongly or rightly; poorly or richly; sparingly or generously.