where our heads lived and were

I must admit I was fully prepared to jump on the bandwagon of countless single women who hate Valentine's Day. And I had every intention of writing some dribble about how a holiday stemming back centuries, to a time when the true Valentine risked his life in the name of love, has become nothing more than a consumerist driven Hallmark scheme. But last night I got a glorious evening of sleep. I had a delightful morning at work watching men of all ages purchase bouquets of roses for their sweethearts. I went running on a lovely Spring day that seems to have gotten lost in February. I watched my roommate get a Valentine's surprise and respond with such pure joy. And as I sat sipping tea, leafing through my collection of poetry, I stumbled upon an old favorite. While not overtly romantic or love infused, this spoke to me once again. And lucky for me, even on Valentine's Day, my heart was open enough to hear it:

in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds

-before leaving my room
i turn,and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.

-e.e. cummings

Happy Valentine's Day, loves. Here's to celebrating not only love, but each other, and this beautifully complicated thing they call life.