"If I could be anything in the world I would be your teardrop because I would be born in your eyes, live on your cheeks, and die on your lips."
-Unknown
-Unknown
Excuse me while I barf up my bagel… What does that even mean?
I secretly hate Valentine’s Day. Until I met my husband, I NEVER had a Valentine of my own. February 14th just meant being surrounded by a bunch of nauseously happy couples exchanging cheesy lacy pink hearts and overpriced red roses.
Even after fourteen years of celebrating this day with Cliff, I still get a squirmy feeling in my stomach on Valentine’s Day. It’s a little depressing that he doesn’t write me sticky-sweet love poems, plan romantic, candle-lit dinners and gaze lovingly into my eyes. Then I remember… I don’t even like that stuff.
One day last summer, I ran into the curb at the Y and caused a slow leak in my right front tire. That Sunday, I found Cliff in the garage. He was dripping with sweat, working hard to inflate my tire with his bicycle pump. He knew I wanted to meet a friend to run and he wanted me to be safe. These images of my precious husband, the constant concern for my safety, the sacrifices, and small, everyday gestures of his love are what fill my heart.
In the past, I had become bitter that I was always alone on this special day meant for lovers. Then, I realized, Cliff truly is my One and Only Valentine!
Oh, by the way, I still hate Valentine's Day...
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