Valentine’s Day.

Gal-entine’s Day.

Pal-entine’s Day.

There’s so much love to go around:


Friends posting pictures together,

Lovers singing each other songs.

They’d bet it would last forever

But boy, let me tell you, they’re wrong.


Every song has a final note

And the ink on pictures will fade.

Love isn’t quite as it is wrote,

Rather, it is something that’s made.


Love is made in the dark of night,

When all others have gone to bed—

Conversations after a fight,

When emotions are colored red.


It is found in those few moments

That nobody else gets to see

Where we each share our atonements.

That’s what I think true love would be.


Of course, I say that while I sit

In a place that’s devoid of it.



Hello there!


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