50 Shades of Valentine

Let me run this by you, see how it plays.

It is Friday 13th of February, an aging warrior for Justice is deeply troubled by two things:

  • Her rather cute but psychopathic pet stalker seems to have gone to ground and the date leaves her somewhat confused as to what she should be most afraid of
  • She cannot find the painkillers for her arthrit…*coughs*…SPORTS INJURY

The scene changes to a young man sitting alone with his typewriter…

Have you ever known what it is to love someone absolutely?

You seem to wake up 10 minutes earlier every morning just to be able to think of them a little sooner, and when you do think of them for the first time every day it is as if you cannot believe your luck just to have found them.

There is nothing to be afraid of, it doesn’t matter if they hurt you, ignore you, reject you, as long as they exist and you are aware of it they are the drug that flows in your veins, banishing shadows and turning the sluggish air that flows around you electric and crackling with every kind of promise.

You feel so free, as though you have the power to fly.

She didn’t even want to like me, but I chipped away at her until I changed all that. It was easy, because whatever I might try to tell myself, I am perfectly happy to do, or be, anything that will keep her close to me.

I don’t mean that in some creepy servile way, she would hate that, I challenge her and she loves it.

I defy her and she flies into rages that keep her near me while I learn how to make her forgive and laugh with me.

I don’t mean that I am playing some kind of part with her either. There would be no point. I know, I tried it. She saw straight through the part I was playing for her benefit as if it did not even exist. That is maybe the most incredible part, she sees through me and she doesn’t mind, she accepts me, albeit despite herself sometimes.

That never happened before. I am not really like other people and they do not seem to accept you unless you are, so I learned to play the all right parts just enough to get by. But if I ever try to play a part with her she will give me hell – ok, maybe I do it sometimes for that very reason. I love it when she gives me hell, and not just because it’s an inside out way of being reminded that she prefers me to any part I could ever play.

That never happened before either.

I can’t get over the fact that all the things they say about being in love are true. You really do want to do stupid things like send round two dozen roses with a note saying “Guess who?”.


Not a good idea, mightn’t always discourage me though.

Pretty sure I could walk along miles of shoreline happy just to hold her hand.

I get daft fantasies about bringing her out to dinner somewhere elegant and expensive, or dafter yet the Opera or the Ballet (not something I would usually see my way to being able to sit through if I tried, but I bet she’d love it). I could hold her coat and trail in her wake while she glided sweeping staircases in a breathtaking gown (not that I have the most fully formed idea of what one of those should look like. Lots of bare shoulders and sparkly bits I suppose?) to a place where I could sit beside her without having to speak, or think, or do anything but love her.

…and I am not even fooling myself, she really does like me too. I asked her and she said so. She just doesn’t like some of the things I do, but I can change all those things – and I will as fast as I can.

Or I would…

…you see she is a ghost.

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to turn into “Tales of the Supernatural” I don’t mean it that way. I don’t even believe in that stuff. She is very much alive. Alive enough to be furious with me for the past week, she can’t really grasp that those of us who live in the real world can’t always prioritise her approval. She’ll forgive me, she always does…and if she doesn’t I’ll find a way to make her. It’s just the way we are. If we lived together half the china would hit the wall every week, and we’d secretly love every moment of it too.

I would forgive her literally anything (which is good because she isn’t exactly a saint. In some ways we are so opposite you wouldn’t think we would ever have any time for each other).

As it is, we almost have it all.

It’s not that there is nothing in the way, there is plenty, but when you feel this way everything else is so much trivia, just chores to be dealt with.

I am obsessed with what it would be like to hold her, just stand there, refusing to let her go.

But she died before I was born…

All that is left is a ghost older than my mother.

How could I ever hold that?