Letter to my Valentine

My Valentine, 

February isn't just the month of love for us. It's OUR month. It's the month I was born. It's the month you were born. It's the month I asked you out. It's a month of hope, of beauty, of dreams coming true. 

Our love never came easy. Maybe that's why we cherished and nourished it while we had it. We marvelled at the fact that we were lucky enough to be able to hold on to each other, while others fell apart. I remember telling you fervently one night:

"I'm afraid. I fear that like them, we'll stumble and fall, and never get up again. But that's okay too. I am grateful just to have made you happy, to have brought you laughter."

I believed it then. Yet living like this, has made me realise I was wrong.

I remember how we met. I remember the blouse you wore. Scarlet. How can I forget? You named me Scarlet when I told you I had no middle name. Scarlet. Like Scarlett Johansson, our joint celebrity crush. 

I remember your eyes that day. Sad. 

I remember the book you were reading. Khalid Hossini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns". 

I remember the confusion, the stress it put on both of us, just to be together. I remember being unsure, and then more certain than I had been in my entire life.

I remember your anger at all the ones who had hurt you before. I remember slowly replacing it with jokes about their flaws, so that they faded in comparison to us. 

I remember asking you: 

"Can't you see??? Can't you see that I won't go away? Don't you know that I can't stay away??" 

I remember you in my bed. So beautiful, it made my heart ache. I remember you opening up like a flower. I remember when your kisses turned desperate. I can still see your bosom rising and falling with your satisfied sighs afterwards. I remember every inch of your body. The dimple hiding somewhere on your thigh instead of being on your cheek. The smooth skin. Your intoxicating scent. I remember worshipping your body for hours, drunk on you. 

Again this February, I have to ask. Can't you see? Can't you see that we have to be together? Can't you see that your boyfriend doesn't know how you like your chicken, but I do? Can't you see that you were made to be cherished and teased...not mauled by rough impatient hands? Can't you see? Can't you see that and come back to me? 

Come back. You know I will never do you no wrong. And if ever I do, I'll go to the US and get you Scarlett Johansson, just so you can forgive me. You know I'll never stop loving you. And if I ever do, it will be because I'm an idiot. You know I'll do anything you ask, if you say it will make you happy. Come back. Let's go make memories to recount in bed on lazy Sunday mornings, laughing until we cry.

Let me cook for you every weekend. Let me bring you a new book every week to keep you awake at night while I sleep off my long days' stress. Let me look up jokes on the internet that I think you will like. Let me make your large bright eyes sparkle with laughter every morning. Let me read you cheesy poetry at night while you laugh from my melodramatic actions. Let me fall asleep knowing you're safe. 

Come back. 

Me.