ValentineA Poem by maya_onlineI hate the roses, but I want to love.(I HIGHLY recommend audio) February 14th. I love roses, the chocolate, I love the love, which stays stagnant in the air like a puff of tobacco on a cold evening. February 14th. My mother calls me every valentine, every valentine she tells me how much she wishes she could see me. Every valentine, I saw her smile falter only for a moment, the warmth leaving but she would pick it right back up, as if it was only the idea of sadness that I'd imagined. / February 14th. My mother missed a call, which is strange, and I'm so used to tradition and ritual at a young age, but I don't question it. Because my mother has always loved me even if I haven't seen her in person since I was born, I know she has, because every valentine she would call. // February 14th. I was in the car, I remember, driving home after a long day with my family my father's face hung low but he still managed to ask about my day. As I grew, I knew when he was going to tell me something bad, but I was 10, I couldn't read the words he was about to tell me, until they fell from his lips, until I felt my heart fall, too. // February 14th. My mother died, there was no funeral, she was cremated, I'd never seen her in my life and I would never see her again. I cried, but what for? Crying for something I didn't know? For moments which could have passed? For time we could have spent? I cried, and I remember looking at the obituary, and seeing the words written in dark black ink, as if it knew how my heart felt as it bled. I read the date: February 14th. I f*****g hate roses, I hate the red of the petals, the red they spared my mother of as they burned her sad corpse. I f*****g hate chocolate, the chocolate of her skin the chocolate which was sweet like her smile. I f*****g hate love. I wanted to be loved. I wanted my mother at my side, loving me with all of her big heart, but now that heart has been encased in a ceramic pot, in the corner of some room, as people continue to live and breathe, as they celebrate love every year. I will never f*****g forget, and if I do, I'll know to remember it every time I see a red heart balloon floating in the air, the air filled with love love and my quiet, disgusting, hateful, despair. February 14th. I still wait for her calls, her smile, large and warm big and inviting. I still wait for that feeling in my heart, which pools at the bottom of my stomach. That feeling when I get a box of chocolate or a card, where I get roses, and a hug. But it never comes, it never comes, yet year round, Valentine does. I want someone to fix me. Make my heart whole again, love fully, understand completely. But I know it's impossible, because as it does every year, and every year it still will, the month will roll by, so will the lovers, and my calendar will always read, February 14th.
© 2024 maya_onlineAuthor's Note
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3 Reviews Added on November 13, 2024 Last Updated on November 13, 2024 Tags: melancholy, sad, death, love, attachment, maya_online Authormaya_onlinehere in, GAAboutI'd like to leave my mark somewhere, and hope it matters, maybe my words reach someone, and if they do, then that someone will know I was here. ___________________ feel free to message me! I love ta.. more..Writing
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