Love, Toast and the Little Things

I used to hate Valentine’s day. I think shy geeky girls with glasses and braces, who spend break times in the library, usually do. Because it is one of those days that, rather than affirming that someone loves you, actually confirms that you are in fact unpopular, uncool and definitely not sweet enough to warrant an overpriced card complete with a crappy hallmark poem.

But that was Upper school and that, thankfully, is like a distant planet; still orbiting my memory but no longer a place I inhabit.  Things change . You realise that life isn’t going to pan out like an animated Disney picture, and that love is about more than chocolate and expensive gifts. When you’re younger, being loved on Valentine’s day seems like the most important thing in the world, but when you get older you learn that being loved day after day is far more essential and special. For me, it’s not the big and grand gestures that say a lot, but rather the little and everyday ones.

When he brings me coffee in bed and we start the day with a proper conversation. When he holds my hand. When he sends me a thoughtful text message or tweet. When he leaves me a note. When he writes me a poem on the fridge. When he makes me toast, just as I like it. When he wipes my tears and says he still believes in me. When we read poetry to each other. When he surprises me with flowers.

These aren’t Valentine’s day gestures, they are just everyday moments that make me feel special and loved. They are moments that make me realise just how lucky I am.

I’ve found that person that you just ‘click with’. Who loves your bad bits just as much as your good bits. Who inspires you, gives you reason to smile and generally just makes you a better person.

Shaun probably doesn’t realise that he inspires me, makes me a better person and a better poet – because I’ve never taken the time to tell him. Because I get caught up in the mundane things – being annoyed about the mess he’s made, the pile of unwashed dishes, the mountain of laundry – and I sometimes forget to thank him, to acknowledge the things he has done. He really has helped to make me a better poet; my world was small, closed off and a little dark before I met Shaun, and as a consequence my poetry reflected my environment. But Shaun changed my world, turned it upside-down, added a few torches and flares and knocked down a couple of walls. He reminded me how to have fun, and most importantly taught me how to love again.

And suddenly there was so much more to write about...

I’m going to finish today’s post with a poem, a love poem that I wrote a few months ago, and which was inspired by my very wonderful Shaun.

Love

When he makes me toast
he turns the toaster down
from his ‘5’ to my ‘3’

Leaves it to cool
before spreading with butter
(scraping  the excess back onto the knife)

Cuts it into four irregular triangles –

just as my mother did when I was small.

Thank you for reading,
Lar.

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