I've been joking with certain friends, that I'm going to slit my wrists today, Valentine's Day, because I am haplessly, hopelessly out of love. Let me comfort you, or possibly win (or lose) a bet for you, I am not slitting anything today. To be on the safe side, I might not even floss, lest I slip and slit my gums.
The fact is, my suicidal quips are so far removed from any actual intention of offing myself I think we can safely say, "Joking about suicide is not funny."
What else isn't funny is this: I'm not in love, so don't forget it. It's just a silly phase I'm going through. And just because I call you up, or launch a chat, or send an ecard, don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made. I'm not in love. No, no. I'd like to see you...but then again...that doesn't mean you mean that much to me. So if I call you, don't make a fuss. Don't tell your friends about the two of us. I'm not in love. No, no.
If you ARE in love, even if it's the pretend kind (and for some of you I can see it is) bask in it, because on this side--let's call it the Not in Love side--even your transparent pretense of being in love is better than this hollow, sad, lonely, pathetic, worthless, miserable, did I say hollow?...hollow side.
You, the truly in love, genuine, heartfelt, soulmate lover types out there, can suck it, because I'm totally jealous of you. Are you happy with yourselves? Oh that's right, you are happy. Love will do that to you. It also makes you stupid. It also makes unattractive people attractive. It makes dumb jokes funny. It makes bad food yummy. It makes rain romantic. It makes ugly jewelry special. It makes silk, conversation heart covered boxers not ridiculous. It turns French Toast into French cuisine. It compels men to put the seat down. It compels women to...oh never mind.
I'd almost rather hate someone than feel this hollow. May I hate you? Will you be my Valentate?