A Valentine From Me to You - A Brand New Typewriter Series Poem

Typewriter Series #3111

Two gifts today, from me to you. Two, for all of you, all who I love so much and appreciate so completely being here. First, the best gift, one I so very much hope helps more of you join us here.

If you click the button below, it will give you 50% off an annual subscription. I really, REALLY, want more of you to experience the magic of this community we’re building, and I don’t know how else to convince you it’s worth it, so hopefully this will help. Now, it costs like a dime a day to join us here, to change your life in the process.

For the second gift, I’m gonna just give the poem and the breakdown to everyone, all of you, so for those of you who have not yet joined us, you can see what waits when I send out new poetry almost every week. There are so many other things you receive, life reboot prompts, access to me anytime you need, but the best bit is just the community, and knowing that you’re helping keep this place alive.

Anyhow, a love poem for you on this Valentines Day. Here’s the breakdown, and as usual, the full spoken word recording of me reading it:

This one was another custom poem that a woman ordered for her partner, at least it started off that way. (By the way, GIFT 3 from me to you, is 10% off CUSTOM POETRY on my Chasers Shop…just enter code VDAYSALE when checking out with the custom poem and it’ll apply it)

It started that way, and it all began with a single line: “Love as sorrow bound and elephantine,” as what I know of love, is that it’s so much more than the Valentines Days and the date nights and the meet cutes and hand holding and sex having and Notebook worthy dying in each others arms. Love is sorrow, too, bound in it, wrapped in it, enduring it. Love is MASSIVE, and it is encompassing. Love hurts, at least if we’re supposed to believe the band Nazareth, and it always will.

As we wander across the landscape of someone that we love, as we learn their hills, their valleys, their peaks, the rivers of their sorrow, we will hurt, and they will hurt, and it’s how we hurt together, that will define the connection we build. If we grace one another with time, with patience, we can define that love however we wish, however we see fit, and everyone’s dictionary entries will be different.

There is such beauty in this.

The paper I used was some old, old notepad of ledger paper, much of which still had original writing on it. I cannot recall where it was from, I think perhaps my grandfather’s collection of things from when he passed. I have a suitcase full of old paper from old books, from old notepads, from napkins, receipts, torn scraps I find along the way, ticket stubs, hotel notepads, even order forms from old businesses long since shuttered.

I write of love a lot, I have since the beginning of this Typewriter Series, since long before it. You’d think by now I’d call myself an expert, like the poem said, and perhaps for awhile I think I did. The more I learn, however, the deeper into love I fall, the more I understand that I only “fumble out something that speaks of blessings, of connection unparalleled,” as the poem says. As clearly as I try, I’m only speaking in the vagueness and ambiguity of someone that knows nothing at all.

Perhaps, in the end, that’s what love is—learning as we go, defining it as we make it, sharing the joy, the ache, the sorrow, until two voices combine to give it one definition, at least for a time, at least until it changes again. Perhaps.

Here is the spoken word version of it, so you can hear it in my dumb voice, how it sounded in my head when I wrote it.

Happy Valentines Day. I hope it’s beautiful, however it takes shape for you. And a reminder, 50% off for anyone who wants to finally try this place out, and support Signal Fire and all it offers. Click below.

I love you all.