Valentine

A few nights ago, I had an incredible idea for your Valentine; a printed copy of every substantial post on this site. A real, tangible piece of me, a hand-delivery of all the goodness your limited internet connectivity keeps you from. I’ve made some arrangements to take care of that, too, but I intended to make a clear statement with the delicious smell of freshly printed pages, hot ink and miles of heart pattern ribbon.

The universe, however, had other plans. Planned maintenance took longer than anyone could have anticipated, and this afternoon, when I had three of my smartest and most devoted friends working tirelessly on several fronts to make this happen for me, I finally realized why.

I wanted to give you full and free access to my past, to let you run your fingers slowly over the words and the edges of my pages, to allow you unfettered access to the whole of me. It’s all here, on the screen and in between the lines, and you are still most certainly welcome to wander that landscape as you please.

It sums up quite easily, though, as you’re coming to understand. The short version is this: every story, thought and idea I had before was just the slow and painful process of being hand-designed by the universe to be perfect for you. The end.

Which is why it worked so diligently to break my focus from the dark beauty of my past and towards this present moment. As a force of nature, it sometimes takes a little longer for me to receive messages, but I finally came around.

Rather than gift-wrapping all the moments that led me to you, I’m bringing you here, to your rightful place in my story, because I believe more every day that you and your love are the karmic payoff everyone keeps insisting I deserve. My past is a part of the woman I am, and that makes it as much yours as the rest of me. Still, if I’m going to wrap something in pretty paper and put your name on the tag, I’d much prefer it be my future.

Until we’re ready for that, how about I just give you all the present moments I can spare? One day we’ll look back and realize that we can’t exact the point when now became eternity. Perhaps when the harsh starkness of daily lives and problems invades too readily, we can borrow one of these first sweet memories and let our hearts be lightened in that new love again.

The only thing I would want for you to glean from all that happened before you: that hundred-acre wood of doubt and darkness sometimes holds me hostage, and the trail of heartache carved into the wood line is slow-going for my poor little brain, who is trying very admirably to keep up with my heart and soul. None of these things is a failure of yours, or a sign of waning trust. It simply is, and just like literal darkness, dawn will come along eventually.

Just like you did.