Today is Saint Valentines Day, and falling on a Monday, the traditional laundry day, a good excuse for washing out all dirty and stained memories of things that might have been, could have been, almost were.
From our first teetering steps we are bombarded with the virtue, the necessity, the absolute imperative of love. Love of family, of nature, of country, but most consequentially the adoration of our own species, or more specifically some very particular members of our lifeform, companions, partners, crushes, amorous involvements, lovers. The number of Valentines we amass is wholly random. Perhaps just the one, there is still that perfect love that starts in kindergarten and continues forever, or there might just as easily be multiple occurrences of bewitchment, beyond count or recall. Either option is socially acceptable, both rewarding in their own very singular way.
Whether you spend the day joyfully recollecting, or gleefully scrubbing, cherish each and every reminiscence.