Dear St Valentine
I’m sorry to do this today of all days, but I’m breaking up with you. It’s not me. It’s you. It’s just too much.
You had no idea what you started back in the early in 290s AD; the pyramids of chocolate boxes in hues of pink, cerise and blush, cakes covered in rich fuscia buttercream adorned with hearts and butterflies, bottles of champagne waiting for ice, forests of roses, single stem or half a dozen with their deep velvet red petals, and row upon row of bright glittery cards in their shiny unrecycleable cellophane.
To be fair, I’m not sure you …