Delicate

Valentine’s Day is delicate.
For everyone else, it’s a day of love and romance; for me it’s the memory of the first time I ever saw someone who had passed away, and the realisation of what death really was.
My Grandmother sadly went on that morning on February the 14th, just as the sun broke through the clouds, and for me the only memory it brings, is the heart break of seeing my dad cry for the first time and of my family holding onto, and hugging and kissing someone who’s energy had already long slipped away.
I find it ironically cruel, that a day that is supposed to amplify love just always leaves me with a feeling of sadness.