Dear diary I'm a writer,
Somewhere during the span of January I thought I'd write on a monthly basis, so here I am, writing a month later, on purpose. Hello again old friend. On a sad note, dear account chronicle I'm a writer is not as appealing on paper as I had thought. It' such a shame too I loved that word. And that's what I want to talk about today. Love. Not the word account chronicle for that would push me more into my melancholy state, considering the fact that I could not use it has caused this sadness. So, I'm sad diary.
This is where we return to the topic at hand. Love. 'Tis the month for it. Talk about a connection huh? February and love. Valentine's day! It hasn't arrived yet but if it did, I don't think I'd care. On the one hand, chocolates are cheap the day after, but on the other hand I might not feel for chocolates. You know what treat I really do love though? Those butterscotch ones they always lie to me about, the ones that they say were made from the hands of milk maids but upon further inspection one finds out it's indeed from a factory. Som of the most amazing things can come from some of the most terrible lies. It is marketing, they push some far fetched ideal for the consumers to take in I suppose. For me it's the milk maids making my favourite sweets, for Valentines day lovers, it's the buying of chocolates, or roses, both if you will, and or some other strange fan-dangles the significant other probably doesn't need, but, it's Valentine's day.
The history of this day does not intrigue me, but completely based on hearsay I am of the opinion that a man sent a letter, or a series of letters to his lover. From prison. The story holds not much intrigue for me be it the fact he was in prison, or the fact he sent letters to the one he had romantic affections for. The only thing I care for is cheap chocolate to go with my butterscotch. No matter what status of relationship I'm in.
Valentine's day does not annoy me, but it does make me wonder. It is commercializing romantic love, one of the most confusing feelings out there. Love itself seems confusing at times but the romantic type has many ripping their hairs out at the sheer confusion of it all. And how I see it, this day makes money off our confusion. The need it presents "show her how you feel with this xyz ring" or " for the man in your life, buy him xyz shirt or what have you", to people who might use this day as a means to show their utmost feelings, by spending their very last cent is astounding.
And it somehow validates a person without a significant other to be sad, having no one to love. That's why I wonder if it's just the romantic type of love. The one that at the onset has conditions before those conditions become blurred,the love that happens when the possibilities of loss horrifies the soul, the love you question and lack the answer at times, where you love seeing that special one smile but wanting to be the reason behind it, the love that is selfless and selfish at the same time.
Why is one day used to encompass all that and more? Why one day to show this love, and what about the other types of love? I know the other days that are used for showing love to others, but I'd rather not talk about those for now. Let's talk about how it confuses me to have another human above others, this level of elevation to separate them from others, boundaries you can't cross and I understand the physical boundaries one is supposedly entitled to as compared to others, but being there for someone, while not doing that for others, understanding the vulnerability of others including my own weaknesses but sharing that with someone you want to be there as well. It should make sense but as imperfection would have it, the fear, is killer. So is the desire to keep myself locked up, not really willing to be helped, but helping. I'm flawed. I might change one day, but for who? Meanwhile, I'll keep my familiarity with the love of the sounds that please and caress my ears, the love that compels me to help the ones that can't help themselves, the love of the sensation against my papillae as I taste my favourite food. The love of a word, no matter what restrictions are placed on it.
I won't call you account chronicle, but I still love the word. I'm not sad any more diary. To celebrate, maybe I will buy chocolate, it goes go well with butterscotch after all.
February 1, XXXX
