The Ides of February

Beware the ides of March?  Nay, for ‘tis February, but in the ides of this month do men's hearts break asunder.  And merrily, women jest that their affections can be won for a mere rock mounted in glorious fashion upon a bit of metal, or strung up on the ear.

While one may not be brutalised by one’s brother and associates, yet may one instead find oneself caught up in fetid expectations of giving for one’s own anticipated reception.  The truth sets upon you like a roaring tide on the billowing sea that the "traditional" view of the fourteenth is but a child’s game.

What one may give under the effects of Cupid’s arrow shall in theory be returned again by one’s other.  How is it, then, that so many find this time insipid, and do therefore lament with much bitterness that which they shall not receive by any means until that faerie shall favour them in earnest?

A day of love?  Alas, alas, I see it not so.  For men must become chimerical pretenders in order that they may find the affections of their other.  In this so many lose themselves, caught as it were in a race with no end, never again showing their true selves for fear of losing what ovation is granted their performance, and wishing that they may.

Behold I say that this day is given for those who have, and too often have it counted less for them.  How many have one for whom they think their heart yearns and yet find this time an agony; while by that same token, how many have not and wish that they should have?

By true logic should all men find who indeed seek.  But alack the day, ‘tis not the way.  For that divinity of affection does have a cruel heart, and seeks that men shall have misery at this time.

If indeed to find love am I, it shall not be from behind an actor’s mask, but rather, from my own face.  For a woman I would adore would not be fooled by the pretense of a coxcomb.  Instead, she would see me for who I am, and for whatever reason enjoy it, as I know not the mind of Woman.

In short, what I do feel is that puerile pettiness can be tossed aside in favour of what is real.  I only wish that Venus would instead smile upon me through one who I would esteem, and take with her the seiren’s songs that try to lure me.  Beware the ides of February, for its venom can vex your very soul.