She was in love.
She could feel her emotions bubbling warmly within her. Unable to contain herself, she threw her arms around him, grinning widely. She felt the passion electrifying her, and it was the flames of their love that kept her warm on this cold cold evening.
~~~
He was cold.
The fresh snow sank underneath his feet, as if the two of them were about to drown in quicksand, together. He certainly lost his balance a few times, but hand in hand he knew that if he was dragged in she'd be with him. They were childhood friends. He had known her for forever, and the memories they shared had grown. A picture of them was on his parents' wardrobe: it was the two of them stumbling across the lawn together in diapers. His parents treasured moments like those.
He could almost feel the biting wind within him, piercing his skin. Suddenly, she turned and threw her arms around him, almost knocking him over in her jubilation. He felt thermodynamics in action as she clung to him, and it was her body heat that kept him warm on this cold cold evening.
~~~
It was Valentine's Day. She showed up at his doorstep with a bouquet of flowers. Her imagination wandered, thinking of how his face would light up to see her. She rang the doorbell, and it chimed what in her blissful mood sounded like the singing of angels.
She heard the door being unlocked and saw it open slowly. She jumped into his arms, and he stumbled a few steps backwards, a shocked expression his face. How successful my surprise was: he's speechless!
He set the flowers on the table, and she pulled out the card that she was holding. She had memorized the words, and recited them in her head as he read them out loud.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Without you with me
Don't know what--Achoo!
He sneezed a cute sneeze, neglecting to finish the poem. I would do, she completed in her head, and there were four more verses yet to come. He excused himself to grab a tissue, and the card had slipped between the cushions of the sofa. She rescued the card and set it on the table, hoping he would notice it later.
But when he returned, he simply informed her that he was busy and could not be distracted. He escorted her to the door and showed her the way out. She felt disheartened; the poem was left untouched. To have gotten through only three of twenty lines that conveyed her love for him was like opening the gate to the Garden of Eden and then turning around.
Dejected, she returned to the bike she had left on the sidewalk. He probably didn't even notice the heart she painstakingly etched into the snow on his lawn with her bike tires.
She felt so underappreciated. For the first time in a long time, she cried.
~~~
It was Valentine's Day. He had been watching comedy acts and arguing with his friend about the hottest actresses all morning--after all, it was a weekend, and he felt no urgent need to exercise his brain. The doorbell rang, an obnoxious buzzing that drowned out the comedian on the screen. Grudgingly, he stalked to the door.
Undoing the two locks and opening the door, a flurry of pink tackled him, and he staggered a few steps backwards. The bouquet of roses she was holding reminded him, and he was in shock. Oh, today is Valentine's Day!
He set the flowers on the table, and she handed him a card. He had meant to buy a box of chocolates for her yesterday, but had forgotten, and now had nothing to give in return.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Without you with me
Don't know what--Achoo!
He faked a sneeze because he could already feel things getting out of hand--he didn't want to read five stanzas of this mushy rhetoric with her. He excused himself briefly and went into the restroom, closing the door behind him. She's a great friend. Why can't I love her as she loves me? he thought to himself, sinking his face into his hands. He reminded himself he was only in here for a tissue, composed himself, and walked back outside.
He saw her beady eyes follow him as he returned to her side, making it all the harder to ask her to leave. He told her he was busy and could not be distracted. He escorted her to the door and showed her the way out. He felt guilty; the poem was left untouched. To have gotten through only three of twenty lines that conveyed her love for him was a close escape, like peering down into the first circle of hell and quickly turning around.
He looked on apologetically as she walked down his driveway, and a large heart caught his eye. She had biked the graceful pattern on his lawn. Unable to bear the pain, he shut the door and sat back down on the sofa.
For a few seconds, he stared blankly at the card that lay on the table, but then he picked it up:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Without you with me
Don't know what I would do
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Bees need flowers
And I need you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I didn't start living
Until I met you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
The sun shows its beauty
But true beauty's in you
Words can't express
How much I love you
I tried my best
And forevermore will do.
He felt so cruel. For the first time in a long time, he cried. But then he noticed how the syllables didn't fit, and in his remorse he found infinite comfort in that flaw, as if it justified his harshness, and his tears of pain and despair turned to those of laughter. Of course such poorly written words can't express your love, silly girl.
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As requested, here is what was meant to be a short satirical post, but now will need to be continued. Hopefully, my message is coming across....
