The other day, I was thinking about how this world doesn’t have enough love. It was a thought that made me search the depths of my soul for hours. It was a thought that inspired me to write down a little verse that goes something like this:
All you need is love
All you need is love
All you need is love, love
Love is all you need
Valentine’s Day is a good day to show love. And there are many ways to go about it. I read somewhere that you should always point out the little details that make your partner attractive. You can be as simple as “I love your _____ (insert body part here)” or go all out and describe every inch of him/her.
It’s a silly piece of advice is what it is. What do you mean the little details? Does it look like I have the time to notice stray hairs in your face? I live in Boston, where I trek through ice to get to the convenience store. The last time I focused this hard on walking right, I was learning to walk for the first time. But of course it’s more important to tell you how beautiful your eyes look in the sun. And if I fall ass-first on the ice while staring at you, I’ll have a brand new angle to look at your face from. Great idea, stupid.
Anyway, back to love-spreading.
Poetry is always a good idea. Write a poem on scented paper to keep it pretty, they said. I must’ve been asleep when poetry made the transition from rhyming sentences to a bunch of lines. What is this?
In looks of fair unconscious babes,
Or strangely in the coffin’d dead,
Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night,
As some dissolving delicate film of dreams,
Hiding yet lingering.
That’s not how I roll. I rhyme words. You know how people accidentally rhyme and then laugh and say “I’m a poet and I didn’t know it”? It’s because real poets rhyme. This Walt Whitman got it all wrong.
Now I don’t really write poetry.
But here’s my very own poem, a dedication to my valentine. It follows the rules and everything.
I made this poem smell pretty, so be happy if you sneeze
Wait, what’s that buzz? Does this scent attract bees?
Every time I see you, you give me butterflies
Stop it! What am I supposed to do with these? Just give me some fries
I’m pretty sure that girl over there is checking you out
Seriously now, give her your library card—you vain little trout
That’s when I realized poetry takes research. I don’t know if trout are vain. I didn’t even know the plural of “trout.” All I know is that it rhymed with “out.” Maybe this is why poetry doesn’t always have to be about rhyming sentences.
Now I may have set the standard for romantic expression in this generation, but don’t be intimidated. There are many other ways to tell someone you love ’em. Take this one-liner I found on the Internet, for example. It says “Be mine. Now.” I think it’s a great message to put on a card. Is it an urgent expression of love? Is it a vampire’s way of luring victims? We’ll never know. And true love is a mystery.