A Rabbit is Not Just for Christmas




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This is fast becoming habit you know. Hard to believe that a whole year has passed since I popped my Valentine’s Day cherry and celebrated something which historically held no appeal to me. It’s funny, we often talk about how far too much emphasis is placed on particular days of the year when it becomes expected for us to shower our loved ones with gifts and garlands, or else be considered hard-hearted when, the likelihood is, we’ll come up short and be taken to task for lack of invention. There are 365 days in the calendar year, unless it goes ribbit, and surely that equates to 365 opportunities to drop a SHAZAM into the mix. This New Year’s Eve was the perfect example – while the entire free world were running up extortionate firework bills, we were busy planning for our very own take on the changeover. While this transpired eleven days later, the build-up was one long adios to 2018 and every bit as remarkable.


So I find myself here, one year on from the almighty bucking of trend that was last February 14th, very much adhering to tradition once again. And the reason for this is of elementary design – I simply couldn’t let this particular festival pass by without speaking of the great love of all space and of time. Christmas can go suck a stockingful of fucks, whereas Valentine feels like a far more intimate affair and ideally suited to the old romantic I always promised would make an appearance before tomb time. Not turning up to the love fest would be akin to leaving my skin at the boneyard while heading off to the day spa for a nice all-over exfoliation. And besides, you’re my own personal Hiroshima and that makes me all about the radiation. Thus, I plan to radiate your way and pray my Geiger counter can keep up with the rate of my delighted decay.


To rot in thine arms would be to plot an advance to the magical faraway tree, so long as they embalmed me with all things thee. There are a lot of loves out there on the marketplace and, no doubt a fair few on the dark web too. Howbeit, I’m a finnick when it comes to something finite and any less than love true blue very simply wouldn’t do. Not when “and then there was you”. Not for the girl in my dream. Not for the king to my queen or the queen to my king should it be all-change Tuesday. Fuck it, any day of the calendar week. Month. Year. Lifetime. Recurring. Jesus Christ, I’ve got it bad. And so what if I do. Could walk a thousand paths through my deepest soul’s heart and every road would lead directly back to you. Always said I’d go hard, should it mean finally going home. With you, I’m there. Here. Goddamn everywhere. For my soul has been in full flight ever since the one dark night that precursed a lifetime of fine days.


So many ways that you amaze me. It’s a good job I’m crazy or I’d never keep up with the number of ways you give astonishment a damn good spit and polish. Dropping the rhyme momentarily, my little mind has been blown in so many directions since we met that I’d need a trawler net the size of Memphis to fetch ’em. Note that I failed miserably in my attempt not to break into verse. Some would call this poet’s curse, while I prefer the more endearing term eternal blessing. When I’m genuinely happy, rhyming just comes naturally. And that never happened, before the white rabbit. Had tendency to grab at words like a Cosby in the herd, whereas now I feel empowered to devour each noun and shakedown every verb. It’s absurd. Better yet, we fuse. In a manner inexplicable, applicable to only me and you.


This wouldn’t be possible with an ordinary love. Indeed, anything less than extraordinary and I would have ordered a dozen or so overpriced roses and faceless greeting card that uses someone else’s art to say a heart unfelt “I love you”. I do of course, love you with a hundred thousand whispering fucks and the gift-wrapped horses they rode into town on too. But this is so much more than an obligatory sentiment. This comes straight from the source of the endless stream of happiness exacted by the knack you have for simply being you. For all you have battled your way through. And for never once losing, even when life leaves a bruise. Not sure I’ve seen anyone square up to bitter truth and make it sweet enough to face head-on with corresponding tooth. This is to say that you find a way to train your brain each time next train of thought comes steaming through.


Every lesson life has taught has been welcomed with the wide-eyes of a rabbit caught in headlights; though the spotlight is more fitting of a gifted artist brimming with the very coolest kind of neon head lice. Ideas cotton on quick when they’re provided with a needle and your keen artistic eye could thread a camel through the pupil in a fraction of the time it takes to blink. But what really tickles my socks shocking pink is that your entire existence and being is ultimately one almighty masterpiece. There are pieces of the puzzle which cannot fall into place until certain clouds don’t populate your days. However, you endeavor never once to sever ties with the sunrise looming over fresh horizons. Swelling with pride is a daily occurrence and terms and conditions have no reason to apply. Perhaps this is why I love to polish up the apple in my eye each time you reach nose-bleeding foothold at what I’m told are reassuringly wuthering heights.


Back amidst inception, I may well have made a mention how I planned to find a new, exciting way to love you every single day beyond exception. One thing never less than certain, I shall give my all. Both heart and soul enrolled to go the distance for a blissful stroll, then pick up pace and transcend space and time, inclined to lend drum roll to making clear in crystalline you know that you’re adored. Edgar Allen Poe hinted at more than love one time. I’m the resurrection man who plans to stage a comeback through the cunning act of reason-bleeding rhyme. With my beloved bride right by my side. For one fine day, it shall arrive and you will see within these eyes so wide, the pride of place I dignified the one and only who reminds me of sweet Ivy.


No more timely interlude to conclude on dearest note, for Valentine may soon be voted out, yet lion lives and breathes devout. Breathe in, breathe out – and every breath you steal away from me is stardust on the rust of space and time. I love you. With heart of sheerest crystalline, reflective as fine marble. Of all the diamonds in the sky, I fly the highest every time you sparkle.





Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill




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