I have no rose for you...     I am a hopeless romantic.  I admit it. I have no problem with it. I Love doing the little things that we don't think about. I enjoy watching the details. I like seeing happy couples. I don't see anything wrong with that.     I've heard it said that being a romantic makes it hard to be a realist. Well, so be it. I think that realism is a good neighbor of pessimism they probably swap recipes on sugar free cookies and sauerkraut. While somewhere down the road is optimism who sends cards and flashes smiles to 'ol romantic across the street. That's where the ice cream man comes. That's where the lawns are green. That's where I live most of the time. I like it there. I think that most people don't mind romance when it happens to them, but for some reason, think that it's a form of weakness when it happens to someone else. I don't know how the math adds up to that, but we all have our own equations for our own problems.     On Valentine's Day a few years ago, you'd think that Cupid bought himself a semi-automatic love launcher and maced down an entire block. Love was in the air and it was beautiful. Hand in hand, they passed me by, wrapped up in their plans and thoughts for the future. Their conversations consisting of when they met and all the wonderful things that they thought whenever the other smiled.     I had just gotten out of a bad relationship. It wasn't worth waiting for Valentine's Day, as some do. Makes it take longer to get out of when they do something nice, I figure. Might as well do it and get it over with. Which I openly admit is more the view of a realist than a romantic, but when it comes to healing the heart and running for cover, romance is no longer a factor. More like a disability.     Well, the clouds of love had come and gone, raining red and pastels Into every storefront window, lacing every shelf with fuzzy creatures of some sort; hearts and candies strapped to its back as if it was going to war on a mission of love. Conquest was in the hand of every shopper from the week on until the day. That dreaded day being, February 14th.     I look at it now and imagine that I was looking rather sad at the time. Validly so, but still, somewhere locked inside was a child screaming, "I want some candy too, damn it!" The constant bombardment of flowers and love letters is almost enough to make one reconsider their vices, but I knew that I had done the right thing and although I was spending it alone, I knew that I was loved by the only person that truly mattered, myself.     So who needs those stuffed plush animals that are bound for some box because they all look like they'd befallen the same fate as Sissy Spacek in Carrie and smelled of chalky candies that remain in the box along with their sentiments and dyes that bleed? Who needs flowers that are going to die and wither away in some "see, someone loves me" style vase, collecting dust and cobwebs, only wishing to be thrown out because the love they offer is not the same as the message intended? Who needs to be told only once a year on a certain day that they are loved and that they are fondly thought of rather than throughout the days when times are tough and moral is down? Who needs it!? Well, I do. I need it sometimes, as we all do.     My roommate and I decided to throw a stag party for all of us single folks that didn't want to spend it alone. It actually turned out to be rather fun in the beginning. We started with some wine and snacks. We sang, told stories and when it was down to only a few folks left, we read poetry to one another. I was the only one who really knew what poems should be read, but I chose them not to spite love, but to rejoice in the love that we have between friends and family and the love that we aspire to someday obtain. I meant well, but tears came before the night was over and that meant that it was time for coffee.     We ended up going out to a cafe and having some horrible Java that had been waiting for us for the past hour. We were a sorry bunch. Heads hanging, not much to say, feeling for ourselves and the things that we wished were upon us. It was all too much, so I excused myself for a walk.     Walking down Broadway, the main strip of Capitol Hill, love was in The air. Like the smell of fluoride in a dentist office; you knew that it was supposed to be good for you, but you really would rather just a rinse and spit.     I stopped and chatted with some friends that I saw, but moved on to a restaurant that I used to work at. It was packed, but I had a shoe in, so I was seated in the corner with my cup of tea. I don't mind the corner of the room, it gives one the ability to watch everything and become the fly in the room. You get to listen to other people’s conversations and laugh at their jokes. You get to be a ghost in the crowd, occasionally getting brushed by love in the crossfire of two lovers.     There was one table I lend most of my attention to. It was a couple of friends and they were waiting for the final addition to their party. They were joking and laughing and trying to fill the space that the last member should have been filling, when he finally showed.     He was an attractive man. Not attractive in the Chippendale sense, Not even the Gillette Razor way, he was attractive in the "I'm real and I am the warmth that dare not meet the cold," sort of way. He was charismatic and his smile lit up the room. I was drawn to this man. It wasn't even as though I thought that someday we'd have our own bear skin rug in front of our fire in our cabin on our mountain. It wasn't like I wanted to meet him some night at my gym and we'd accidentally get our bags mixed up and later talk about how we reacted when we got home. No, he was the kind of man that you simply accept as handsome and hope that, whomever has his heart, doesn't screw up because they'd be missing quite a lifetime. He was my unobtainable. I couldn't take my eyes off him; there really wasn't anything to distract me, which would have been nice when he noticed me staring and gave me a nod.     God, he gave me a full body fever. The kind of blush that makes people ask if you have a sunburn. I smiled back and thumbed through a paper I'd been doodling on. Many more of those looks and they were going to cut me off the wine for the rest of the night. A good blush has an alcohol level of its own.     From within his jacket, he pulled out four long stem roses. The woman sitting next to him gave a little "awwww...." like we do when we see a kitten or a cute baby. He proceeded to pass out the roses to the friends seated with him. All except the woman. Her excitement began to dwindle and her chagrin became a pathetic smile that was trying to remain composed. He checked his coat for another rose, but there was not one to be found. "That's okay..." She shrugged and took a sip of her wine.     "I swear that I-" he continued looking...     "No, it's okay, I don't need one. I've got my wine." She smiled wryly and gave herself a little toast.     A friend offered the woman his rose, but she said that it was okay, that the rose was his and she didn't want something that wasn't intended for her. She was being a trooper, although she'd much rather have ripped out his heart and smashed it on the carpet a few times till he finally knew what it felt like.     The man sat down and said, " I have no rose for you, my dear..." To that she slightly lowered her head.     He continued, "Although I love my friends, that rose will die if not handled correctly... You however, don't deserve something that will possibly die..."     She smiled and raised her head as he kneeled next to her, "However, my love for you will never die; will you marry me and be my wife?"     Now, sitting in the corner, I got the whole view and dialogue. I got to see the set-up and the delivery. All I could think was, "Don't be stupid! Say 'yes' you dumbass!" My heart was racing as well was the hearts of almost everyone that saw what was taking place. Silence, a crystal calm, like the world said, "Wait a second, hold up!" and was listening.     Somehow through her tears, she started to mutter something. I couldn't really make it out and her lips were making so many odd shapes, it was impossible to read them. But I did hear this...     "You asshole! Like you have to ask!" She threw her arms around him and everyone started clapping. Some people wiped away tears and some were flagging waiters to buy the new couple some champagne. My throat was tight and I was finding it heard to breath. I was on fire and I was excited. It was as if I had been asked myself. I was giddy and all the while stuck in my little world in the corner.     Somehow, their love could be felt from blocks around. It was amazing. It was exhilarating and exhausting at the same time. I had my romance back.     In letting go of my relationship, I had forgotten the idea that romance doesn't always have anything to do with me. That sometimes it is just the fact that love exists and is around that makes it worthwhile to be a romantic. I had indeed experienced Valentine's Day alone, but with enough love to make it special and meaningful. It didn't have anything to do with me and I had dismissed how good it feels to see people in love and confessing it to one another; trading it in for a few "poor me's" and a "boo-hoo."     I was still hurting from my new found single status, but having my faith again in love made the world colorful again. I even enjoyed all the damn plush toys everywhere.     When the man went to the bathroom, he walked by and smiled at me. Not one of those, "Hey there..." smiles. No, it was one of those, "Can you believe it? I did it!" smiles. I smiled and told him congratulations.     When he came out, he asked me why I was sitting alone on such a wonderful evening. I explained briefly that I had just gotten out of a bad relationship, but seeing his display tonight gave me courage and hope for a beautiful future. He smiled and said, "You're welcome."     A few minutes later a friend of mine, a waiter, came over with a glass of champagne. He said that the new couple insists that I share a toast with them.     "To love." The entire restaurant joined in the toast.     To love indeed, the best buzz out there. Have a round on me...

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