And there it was, the long-awaited D-Day; the Valentines day. The serene day of love and affection; bliss and bloom; make and break.
A romantic amalgam of expectation and anxiety hovered in the air with distinction.
Spontaneously, I had chosen to have the date at a fancy hotel next to our swanky neighborhood. Everything was set; the dinner tables neat and cut-clean. The candles flickering to give the dimly lit room an extra layer of coziness, the exotic chandeliers compounding the grandeur atop with a touch of class.
We sat at the quietest of corners, setting myself at a vantage point to have a birds’ view of all proceedings.
The Cascades of couples shuffled in, with elegance and grace; tucked hand in hand with the femininity of regal and royal; and masculinity of pride and bravado; the mood convivial and peaceful.
Across the pool, luminous specks of light leaked from the neatly laid rooms. It would surely be a night to remember, or so it seemed.
Wrapped in the unconditional warmth of my Donatello (red wine), safe and sound, I sang along to the beautiful love ballads playing in the background; nodding thoughtfully to the flow of the lyrics as the sweet wine was gracing the contours of my throat with admirable calm and tranquil.
I felt lonely and loved, unheard but cherished, unanswered yet appreciated; and amidst my unruly emotions, the DJ finally played Chris Deburg’s classic, “Lady in Red”; and all the adorable couples slowly matched to the floor.
I stood up, raised my pint of wine, toasted to the dazzling skies and took one last round before letting out a loud bellow of pure satisfaction.
I’d just had the best date of my entire life, but with myself. Behold the solitude, my delight!