We didn't have a fancy Valentine's day. I made 3 photo collages of all our shared moments, and he bought me some tulips. We had lunch at South Melbourne, walked around the NGV, and he had to spend chinese new year dinner with his family. We weren't in the best of lovey moods.
24 hours later, I called him after spotting a moth in the room. I have a out-of-proportion fear for moths (second only to cockroaches). It was 1.20am. There is no one at the house. I called him up in panic, and he tried pacifying me in his drowsiness. When the moth went into hiding, I went into panic, imaginations of how it will fly into my face surfaces. I have a knack for attracting creepy crawlies- a cockroach flew right unto my face while I was sleeping once, another one crept up my foot... a beetle flew past and got stuck in my hair even as I was running away from it, a spider I spotted in the living room walked right next to me in the shower stall, another spider with fat hairy legs nearly got flung unto me when I slammed the car door closed, and I ran out from the other side before you can say 'OMG'.
Back to the eventful night, he got into his car after hearing me fruitless attempts at trying to prod everything using a mop. Unfortunately, I only found the moth after he was already reaching.
The strange thing was, I felt that love happened after valentine's day. As I type, I am still looking at the pretty pink tulips in their half blossoms, but I can't help knowing that as unromantic as it sounds, there was love happening when someone gets out of bed, drives 20mins each way to help you rid a harmless moth.
I am still thinking about it at 3am...
