You make me smile

“My funny Valentine, sweet comic Valentine... You make me smile with my heart...”

You can tell it’s Valentine’s Day around these parts; the streets are covered in chalk graffiti, multicoloured declarations of love written on walls and pavements and roadsigns ready to disappear with nighttime rain and be gone by the morning. It was just there this morning, when everyone woke up and into the new day, as if vandal cupids had been up all night decorating the town writing luv luv luv... It makes me smile.

Walking through the town centre, there’re the thugboys gripping red roses in cellophane and frowning at anyone that dares to meet their gaze as they stomp the streets waiting for their girlfriends and try to be romantic. Old couples sharing smiles and walking arm in arm, sharing the best and oldest private joke of all, trailing sad eyes all envious as they move down the street. It’s all about this today; everyone (me included, in the past) always puts up cynical defence mechanisms about February the 14th, saying to anyone that’ll listen that it’s all about the marketing, really. That all people care about is the colours and the merchandise, whose card is bigger than anyone else’s, who got how many, the cellophaned flowers and all that shite... But it’s not. For one day, it’s love. The world is love, if you know where to look.

For me, my bonny lies over the ocean, over the sea. Oh, bring back my bonny to me.

I’ve said this many times before, and I’ll say it many times again, but fuck it. I’m STILL in awe of her, and the fact of her. I remember once, early on in our relationship, making a joke about having a list of things that my perfect woman would have, but the truth is that she would have everything that could be on that list and so much more. She’s the person I’d’ve dreamt about if I had a better imagination, but then all of a sudden she was in my life and she was perfect.

I knew something was special about her from the second I saw her name on the first e-mail. Which sounds like one of those things people say when they’re old and married and on a TV talk show, trotting out the classic showbiz stories for a clapping audience, but I swear that it’s true. And when I told her so, and she wasn’t pretend-modest in the slightest, I knew she was incredible. It was THAT early. I had a crush on her for ages and kept it to myself because, I mean, having a crush on someone that I’d never met who lived across the world was obviously madness, and OBVIOUSLY if I told her, she’d run a mile; she was always in my head and I was constantly thinking of things she’d said or told me to read, songs she talked about or all of the bigger things we talked about, as well. Our conversation have always been incredible, trapeze acts flying from one subject to another completely disconnected one with both of us never losing track, from the stupidest things to the most “highbrow” by way of the worlds inbetween, ready-built catchphrases included.

I get all smiling writing about her.

I knew it was so much MORE than a crush after I’d heard her voice for the first time; everyone has an ideal voice, and her’s is mine. It’s sexy and friendly and intelligent, and there’s this sound to it that she IS, indeed, “more fun than should be allowed” (as she’s told me on more than one occasion). We talked and I was in the toilets in Borders bookshop in Glasgow, and afterwards I wanted to tell everyone what had happened; how could they all just be going about their normal business? Did they UNDERSTAND what’d just happened? Two days later, we had a longer conversation that was more incredible; even though we’d only been writing to each other for about three weeks at that point, it was talking to my best friend ever from the very start. I didn’t want it to end. It’s still going on now, really.

When we actually met face to face for the first time, it wasn’t weird at all. There was no awkwardness; we met and we kissed and it was her, as perfect as I’d imagined (actually, more perfect, but that just sounds odd).

She’s constantly surprising me (the sheer brilliance of her Valentine’s gift, for example. Especially considering what I wrote last night). She’s constantly teaching me, making me in awe of her, making me laugh. I’m always falling more and more in love with her, and I always will. I know this; I want to be old and grey (more likely, bald, sadly) and put my paperthin hand in hers. I’ve known THAT from really early on, too.

Kate, I love you more than any words could ever say. Happy Valentine’s Day, you. The first of many, what d’you say?

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Copyright © Grim, 2002