Sometimes I have to admit defeat. I’d like to say I tried, but I know that I was thinking more of myself than of him. My Valentine’s Day poem this year was entirely self-indulgent, an exercise in rhythm and rhyme. He didn’t get it.
I wanted to write something nice. Honestly. I really did. But I was tired and cranky and not feeling it. (Sorry, hon.) I had decided not to bother writing anything when I had the idea. How fun! I could write a poem with each line rhyming Be My Valentine without ever saying the words. Better yet: I could rhyme each word! That was the moment Valentine’s Day switched from being about him to being about me. (He might argue it’s always about me, and he’d probably be right, but for the sake of this post, let’s pretend I’m normally better than that.)
It was harder than I expected (and so, more fun). I grabbed my notepad and wrote down all the words I could think of for each rhyme. Then I started combining and recombining until I ran out of things that seemed plausible enough to include. So fun! I couldn’t wait to post it.
I let a few days go by before mentioning it to him. I knew it wasn’t conventional, not a traditional love poem, but I had thought maybe a few people would appreciate it for what it was. Nope. So I casually mentioned it to my husband before bed. He promised to read it. I read it out loud to my daughter. I had to explain it to her. She thought it was serious, and wasn’t sure what to make of it. No! It was fun. Remember fun? That’s when you play with words and rhythm and make them into silly poems.
“I didn’t get it either.”
“But I even put Be My Valentine in the tags.”
“I don’t read tags.”
Oh well. Here’s the version I didn’t use, because I thought it was too obvious:
see why stars align
see why paths entwine
see why souls combine
see why love’s so fine
see why you are mine
Be My Valentine. I guess I really do have to say it.