February 14, an annual holiday celebrating the feast of St. Valentine, otherwise popularly known as Valentine’s Day. The day was first associated with romantic love in the 14th century by Geoffrey Chaucer, a time period when the tradition of courtly love flourished. As such, it became an occasion when lovers expressed their love to one another by various means from presenting flowers, offering confectionery, or sending greeting cards.
A poet myself (from a young age), I’ve always celebrated Valentine’s Day by putting my creativity to the test, writing several poems on the occasion, mostly of romantic nature. As a teenager, I exercised my inspiration from experiences at home, in the company of the love I witnessed between my parents, to the ordinary circumstances of life that were my adventures at school. In fact, my first published work, Our Last Summer, found its beginning in a poem. With its end came the realization of a truth that aptly described my first infatuation when I fell in love with love itself.
Shortly after, I would fly away from home, pursuing a future in the star spangled skies that awaited me in Edmonton. In the solitude of the years that followed, I would contemplate much about the nature of love and life, finding peace in my own isolation, and yet constantly seeking for company in my dreams. And in that manner, on the venue of this 14th, I would write a poem experiencing for the first time my own inability to express my feelings in a question that required no answer.
Yet, for what it’s worth, my voice was heard on that day by someone I hold dear to my heart, and to her I now say, in what has become a melodious sonata of our time together as friends, as partners, and as soulmates I find myself running out of words to describe the beautiful poem that has been the four years of our life together. So for now, I shall stutter, and stumble into the comfort of the night’s silence as I reminisce about us, and the promise I made you in our early days, and one I intend to keep for all my life…