Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

Prologue

The buds of my tongue are marred by roasted cacao seeds and wine. Without any inclination of relief, I snivel and stagger my way down New York City's celebratory sidewalks.

It's the sweetest day of the year – if you have a partner or purchase your own overly priced gifts. It's the loneliest – if you're single. The last time you received a card on this day was... kindergarten? It's just another day – if you don't give a damn. 

You've already convinced yourself that you're not getting sucked into this sappy, 24-hour trap.

For weeks, while trying to watch the game, we've been running into KAY's engagement commercials. Our eyes have witnessed 5,937 heart-shaped something or anothers. 

All of this bothered me years ago. Now, I look forward to the day, Valentine's Day.

"For as long as I shall live, I don't want to see another piece of chocolate." Both of my arms cross my stomach, hoping to hold everything down.

"Let me get that for you, sweetheart." My husband, Alex steps off the curb in order to beat me to the passenger's door.

"All these treats tonight and you're still the sweetest." I paint his cheek with my festive, Ruby Woo lipstick. With a spreading smile and a couple of divots, his face almost matches the timeless shade.

Very aware of my current ailment, my husband holds on to my waist as I lower into our two-seater. When I become liquid – even in his brawn hands – he can't hold me for too long. As I plunk into the seat, an overly aggressive cackle follows. My outburst wasn't the only one to fill the car. After strapping me in, Alex protects my chiffon, maxi-dress by tucking it inside. If he didn't, I would be waving a red flag all through Lower Manhattan.

"All set?"

"All set," I say, leaning into the driver's seat to dodge February's inhospitable gust. After shutting the door, Alex pulls his black coat tighter around his fit frame as his exhales become visible. Reaching, I open his door for him to duck inside. "This is our first Valentine's Day together," I recall as I play with my dress.

Alex stalls a warm-up to wrinkle his face at me. Even his open palm asks for more knowledge. "We've had Valentine's Day together, Angel. Have you forgot the last 3 years of our lives?"

"We've always had to celebrate a couple of days early or a day late."

"That literally happened once and that was last year." He starts the car, checking his left mirror before pulling into the bright, jam-packed, and horn-honking traffic.

"Whatever. You're never on time." To show my appreciation and displeasure, I give soul-weakening puppy-eyes. I've used these eyes many times in this relationship. They win every battle. They will go down in history.

"Time is but an illusion, my wife. An illusion created by the mind to aid in our sense of temporal presence in the vast ocean of space." The suitable class of his voice coils me with warmth and excitation.

"So you're just gonna talk to me like that?" I prove my beautiful reality by stroking over my husband's arm. "Discredit me? Push my feelings to the side?" I giggle through my mocking ways.

Alex enjoys my banter because I get it from him. Since we've been together, I feel we've adopted each other's ways, switched personalities – if I must say. Did we love one another so much that we became each other? It feels like I fell in love with myself. The true definition of my other half.

"If it makes you feel better, the night isn't over." He sends me an I have something up my sleeve simper. What do people do on Valentine's Night? C'mon honey. My imagination isn't off to the races. You're losing your charm.