Sometimes you look at the valentine cards in the drugstore, and you can get depressed. They seem well done, rhymed and so on, but missing something. Maybe written by harried people who are missing something. Or, you think, maybe I am missing something.
You can think, maybe it is passion I am missing. Nowadays we learn from shrinks that being "in love" is a passing thing, a "psychological phenomenon." Is that where passion has gone, reduced to formula?
But let me ask you this, straight out, friend: Where has gone that magic day when all the sun went glistening in her hair? Or when you first read e.e. cummings my beautiful darling and all in green my love went riding and my heart fell dead before . . . Can it truly be that this is a passing thing, that all that is most beautiful, all that is wild and joyful and most creative in us, the very best in us, has been traded for comfort, stability . . .
rather shouldn't we shout out i love you! madly, crazily, insanely, completely endlessly love you! in your flashing eyes and quick smile i see the eternal the wild wind is singing through your hair the stars are bright, friend, bright! the vast oceans of the world pounding in our hearts we are blessed, friend, it is so dear, so short, every moment so precious . . . i love you, i hug you, i laugh with you! i can do it all for you! i love you well and truly now as we make our voyage on this earth and always will -- always, friend -- will, and when we are old and fading, will! when they shovel us into the ground, will! when the last cinders of the earth are smoldering in some post-nuclear sunset, will!