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Ahh, Valentine’s Day, the sweet scent of forced romance is in the air.
Sugar-coated hearts are on the shelves.
Mr. Hallmark is cashing in, and men everywhere are sitting in blissful ignorance because their other halves have told them not to bother this year—only for them to hear the resentful crash of every kitchen utensil being slammed against the countertops on V-Day morning.
Guys, we are women!
“Don’t bother” means, “You better get me something really f*cking special, but make it seem spontaneous.”
Stupid Cupid strikes again!
Valentines are cute, but love is not.
While I may sound like I am a single, cynical, Valentine’s-Day-basher, I do really have to question the morality of this day.
It forces us to prove or highlight or advertise our love through flowers, candy, and scented candles.
True love can be translated in many ways, but here’s what it is to me:
Real love is listening to the same bullsh*t story time and time again and not switching off.
Real love is listening to that godforsaken noise they make when they chew gum and still wanting to stand next to them over anyone else.
Real love is standing by them when their world begins to fall, taking the heat alongside them when they make a mistake, accepting flaws and a sh*t-load of compromise.
Enduring love is not skin deep; it is not materialistic or measured against successes. On the contrary, it’s measured against how strong you stick together throughout life’s failures.
A deep love, for me, is one that is not dependent on anything externally. It’s one where a soul connection transcends all expectations.
Love is damage control.
Love is not a rescue mission; it’s someone who will lie in the pit of despair next to you—then walk beside you as you find your own way out.
Love splits the fear factor down the middle and shares in your pain.
Love doesn’t kick us when we are down or demand that we get back up. It is just beside us—regardless.
Real love sees us at our worst and loves us as much then as when we are at our best.
Love is all-revealing. It lives alongside our raging hormones, zit outbreaks, scars, stretch marks, and cellulite.
It’s all-seeing and all-knowing from the inside out. And it loves us for these flaws as much as our perfections.
Real love knows beauty is only skin deep.
To love someone deeply is to compromise daily.
It’s raw and gritty—completely naked.
It’s putting up with your significant other’s dickhead uncle at the family gathering just because it’s important to them.
It’s them hating your new friends but understanding they are your choice, not theirs.
There’s a whole lot of biting your tongue in love.
True love is a fierce argument softened by the knowledge a reconciliation is inevitable.
Its friendship beneath the passion.
Real love is passion and horror. It knows that for every night of passion, there will be 10 nights when your snoring, quilt hogging, and restless, boiling-hot skin will drive them batty. And it still wants to sleep next to you—regardless.
True love is vulnerability.
I think Shakespeare said it best when he said, “The course of true love never did run smooth.”
I lose count of how many times people have told me you can’t love unless you love yourself. In many ways, this is true.
Genuine love holds a huge mirror up to you daily; yes, it’s all-revealing.
When we are in love, it should allow us to love ourselves fully. It’s exposing.
Relationships are not easy. They leave us wide open, expose the deepest parts of ourselves—the good, bad, and ugly.
Being in love is amazing but staying in love—really, truly loving someone for the long haul—takes a lot of hard graft.
“True love doesn’t happen right away; it’s an ever-growing process. It develops after you’ve gone through many ups and downs, when you’ve suffered together, cried together, laughed together.” ~ Ricardo Montalban
But it’s so worth it, and I am all in.
Happy Valentine’s Day, lovers.
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