It's not that I hate Valentines -- no, never. That's absurd. What I do hate, however, is having to spend it this far away knowing full-well that it could be spent there, having a magical sunset beside a frozen lake in a field of snow eating hand-made chocolates and sipping the finest Champagne until the stars exploded from the sky, in your arms. Forgetting the world as the sky danced with fire and smoke and billowed all around us like a swelling sea. It's not that I hate Valentines... it's that I hate having it coupled this feeling that I hate every day of my life.
Love is a strange thing. Love, my friends, is the biggest, cruellest motherfucker out there. Contemptible and unwavering... but so very alluring. Like a Siren calling the weary sailor to his inevitable doom. And yet... for all the gloom and morbidity held within, it's still the most beautiful conquest we can make while stuck on this rock.
Here's to us fools that have no meaning - I tip my glass to you, let's toast the night away to friends and forget about tomorrow.
Love is a strange thing. Love, my friends, is the biggest, cruellest motherfucker out there. Contemptible and unwavering... but so very alluring. Like a Siren calling the weary sailor to his inevitable doom. And yet... for all the gloom and morbidity held within, it's still the most beautiful conquest we can make while stuck on this rock.
Here's to us fools that have no meaning - I tip my glass to you, let's toast the night away to friends and forget about tomorrow.