The boy and the girl are fighting. They scream, shout and throw their hands in the air. People walking past ignore them, acting like nothing is wrong, but the kids in the playground nearby are staring with unmasked curiosity. “I… hate… you!” the girl yells, tears pouring down her face. “You said you loved me.”
“I did. I do. But I love Rachel more. I just don’t think of you in the same way. Please, Christine, we can still be friends —”
“Friends,” Christine replies. “You want to be friends.”
I could help. I could stop their fight right now, make Christine see reason, make the boy, Justin, fall in love with her, like he so desperately wants to. Make him realise that the other girl, Rachel, doesn’t care for him, that the only thing she likes about him is his money.
But why should I help another human couple? Worthless, ignorant fools. They destroy me, again and again. Pretend to know me, tell each other how much of me they have, and then forget me. Let me go. Some don’t even believe in me. They think I’m a mental illness. Perhaps I am.
I am Love. I wear black jeans and a red jumper. At the moment I look like a girl, maybe fifteen, sixteen. I don’t know where all that crap about a baby in a nappy who shoots an arrow at people came from, but I know for a fact that you cannot shoot me from a bow. I make the world go round and what do I get? One stinking day a year dedicated to me. A day. And what do they call it? Valentine’s day. Not Love’s day. They named my day after my stinking brother. What is the point?
“Why are you doing this to me?” Christine says. “What am I supposed to do without you?”
I snort. Oh please. This break up is so cliché. Nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times before. The guy meets the girl and they fall in ‘love’ within a week. The girl proclaims that she cannot live without him. The guy falls for someone else. The girl goes home and listens to tragic love songs and spends the next four months telling everyone how broken hearted she is. Boo hoo.
I want to see some action. Christine could throw a punch, Justin’s nose could get broken, and Rachel, the other girl, could come and...
Justin is doing something that makes me breath in deep, too deep. I end up coughing, not used to the lungs in this borrowed body. Oh no, he hasn’t suddenly proclaimed his undying love for Christine or anything, they don’t suddenly kiss and make up and live happily ever after. No, what surprises me is that when she drops her bag because she is waving her arms around so much he reaches down and picks it up, and gives it back even though she slaps his hand away.
“We weren’t meant to go out,” he says. “We were supposed to be friends.”
Christine can’t see that Justin does love her because she is so blinded by anger. He loves her enough to stick around, to stay even though she is screaming abuse, telling him she will kill him, that he had better watch his back. He cares enough to want to tell her to her face that he has moved on, rather than letting someone else do it for him.
That is love. I’ve seen so much love turn to hate, but rarely do I see someone who loves another so much they are willing to stay even though they are in the wrong, just so that the other person will be in their life.
I want to find more people like them. I want to prove to myself that humans still believe in me, are still capable of having me. Watch out for me on Valentine’s Day. I might decide to be a boy, with long hair and green eyes. I might decide to be a stray puppy that appears on your doorstep. I might decide to be in that little muffin your mum bakes you when the only valentine you get is the one you sent yourself. Don’t worry. I can be in more than one place. If you look hard enough, you will find me.