Originally, I was going to write a sardonic piece about how love is fake, and we’re all going to die alone, and that Valentine’s Day is just a scam invented by card companies to sell more cards and all that shit. But then my cat, my best friend, my sweet baby, died suddenly. I watched her take her last breath, and I held her body which was now just an empty vessel. And maybe she was just a cat. But she was my cat. And I loved her. I loved her little tongue that always poked out, and I loved her funny meowing chirps, and I loved how she was there for me when I felt alone in the world. I loved her. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve lost something I loved. I’ve lost family and friends, I’ve lost my home, and my identity. I’ve lost myself. But I’ve found love in all the things I’ve lost. I’ve found myself in the pieces I had thought were gone forever. In life, there is death, and in death, there is life. That’s just the way it is. It’s a shitty fucking deal that we never signed up for but we can’t get out of it. Love will inherently lead to loss, yet in loss, there is only love. 

Loss is like a bruise. You don’t notice the hurt until you hit the tender skin against the doorframe, or see the way the sun shines on the freshly fallen snow and it reminds you that there is beauty in death. There is beauty in the world, and we must remember that. Especially when it seems all the love has been sucked into a black hole and spit back out again. Love is something twisted and to be treasured, full of hurt and full of hope. 

I have hope that those I’ve loved and lost are somewhere where death is just a memory. Pain is felt like a phantom limb, and in loss, there is only love to gain. I am glad to be in a world where there is love. It’s a beautiful place to be.