It's morbidly convenient to have had my Father pass on on Valentine's day. It's been a year and I should be somehow thankful. For one, it saved me (and will, from last year onwards) from the trouble of jumping on this bandwagon of commercialized love (need we, for example, be reminded of our commitment, of our task/obligation to our beloved on this day when it should have been a given).
Yeah, that's just my jaded me speaking.
Today, I'm wearing black. I have as equal right as those who want to wear red on this day.
Lest, I be misinterpreted, let me just say that when that person comes along, I want to be original. We will celebrate that magical discovery and then eventual union of two lost souls, all year round, every second of every minute, every minute of every hour, every hour of every day, every day of a week, every week of a month, every month of a year.
Except Valentine's Day.
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