The morning after I wake up with a mild headache. My tongue is dry, and I desperately need a glass of water. The woman I share a bed with still slumbers, a dark patch of cold drool encircling the spot where her mouth touches the pillow. She murmurs and turns away.
I shy away from thoughts of yesterday. All the bad decisions I made.
The pressure to step up, make a move, prove my virility. The flowers bought in a hurry at the supermarket checkout. The sickly taste of chocolate unwillingly devoured, and the more sickening thought of all the chocolate now sitting on discount shelves at CVS. “Half off”, they proclaim. “2 for the price of 1”. “Buy one get one free”. No matter how you put it, the chocolate has no value left.
Around the country, nay the world, discarded bottles of bubbly release the last of their fizz to the revealing brightness of day. Heart-shaped boxes, ripped at the seams, stare up from the floor having served their brief, carnal-pleasure-inducing purpose. The faster they find their way to the land-fill the better off we’ll all be.
The bloody red smears of ribbon, wrapping paper, and fallen petals. How quickly can we hide the evidence of yesterday’s crimes and return to our perceived sense of normal? Can our weakness ever be forgotten? Forgiven?
The storefronts have already swapped out their advertising ploys and color schemes. The Internet ads threaten to heal us of a new bout of inadequacy. Love, it turns out, was just yesterday’s subterfuge.
Happy February 15 to you all!