Love. It’s just like hate, but somebody gets candy.

–Jim Benton, it’s happy bunny Love Bites

I rarely sign on to my instant messenger, but I found myself one phone call short of the evening that I had in mind, and so fired up Trillian to see who was out there. My buddy list is fairly short, actually, so I figured that I would be closing that window fairly immediately and starting this little post about thirty minutes ago. Oops – but not oops. I got to catch up with an ex that I haven’t spoken to in about a year, and while the sentiment was nice, the poor girl just got unceremoniously dumped about a week ago.

“What kind of an asshole breaks up with his girlfriend just before Valentine’s Day?” asked the guy who told his wife of his desire for a divorce on February 7, 2003. But don’t worry; the irony wasn’t lost on me. Not at all.

There is a part of me that hates Valentine’s Day. That part of me has spent the last three Valentine’s alone. That part of me is the bipolar part that isn’t swayed by my fancy attempts at logic and reason, and likes to convince the other parts of me that alone is forever and ever, amen, will the congregation stand and hum a depressing dirge of their choosing, please? That part of me sees the assholes of the world with any girl they want, and the really truly good people like his friends single and wishing otherwise.

But part of me likes it, because the ever-presence of romance and love (no matter how market-driven) forces me to stare that bastard in the face and talk sense.

I’m okay with being alone. Came here alone, will leave alone, and can handle some time in-between that way if need be. But don’t get my posturing wrong: there are times when I hate it. I see the old people shufflng down the strip malls, smiling at each other. I see the young people in the park holding hands. And that place inside of me that I’m holding open for that someone special aches — really, physically hurts. No one in their right mind is really okay with being alone; that’s part of being human, I think.

I’m also, for the record, not nearly as cynical as I come across. In fact, I’m the ultimate romantic, in that I will always and have never let go of the idea that there is still love out there in the world for me, and for every one, no matter how undeserving (or deserving, as the case may be). Hope burns eternal over here in this largely sleepless head and heart of mine, and I’m glad; perhaps if I let that go, I might have an easier time of it. But those stumbles and sharp-edged moments of hurt are almost always preceded by such a wonderful feeling of promise, and it’s a fair price to pay, I think — pain that passes and heals for a few days or weeks or months of a glowing, invulnerable longing.

Maybe it never happens for me again except in those short bursts. Perhaps I’m the star quarterback who made a greedy, critical mistake in the most important moment of the most important game of his life, and that one shot at immortality has passed, and all that’s left for him is winning the company picnic pick-up game against the accounting department of his car dealership. That’s not a pleasant thought, on any level, but while I’m not really okay with it, per se, I can live with it. Because I have loved a lot, and sometimes even well, and at least a few times been loved in return, and that’s more than some people ever know.

I’m very fortunate on days like this to have the option of looking back with fondness on my past as well as looking to the future. Freddie Mercury once sang that one year of love is better than a lifetime alone, and I won’t argue with him. No one should. The feeling of being in love, whether it’s that first meeting of the eyes in the cold of a doorway or falling asleep next to your wife of thirty five years in front of the television — nothing can top that. Not winning the World Series, or closing the biggest business deal of your career, or solving the mysteries of the atom.

Those of you with someone, remember that the candies and flowers and diamonds and fancy dinners really don’t matter at the end of it all. It’s the thought and effort behind it, how much of themselves your lover is willing to give to you, be it money or time or thought. And as you’re kissing them, waking up next to them or falling asleep in thier warmth, spare a thought for those of us not so lucky.

And for those of you in my shoes, lost in between the moments, don’t let it get you down. Don’t focus on being alone, except for how much more it will make you appreciate what is coming your way. Think back on lost loves, and smile, because you had it all, once, if only for just a moment, and if you want, you can stretch that joy out as long as you need, because it’s everything and infinite. Be ready: it may be coming back at you at any minute, but don’t give up hope if it’s not. Even the false promise of togetherness can hold something if you’re willing to see it.

“And most important, realize that when you do find lifelong love, it probably won’t be because you were looking for it. You’ll probably just accidentally step in it.”

–Jim Benton, it’s happy bunny Love Bites