My colleague told me that Valentine’s Day is a holiday for new love, not old wrinkly love. I laughed, sipped my coffee, but as the day went by, I kept thinking over her words. Maybe she’s right.
The stores do seem to think the 14th of February belongs to the fresh-faced, the flirtatious and the fleeting. Red roses, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, teddy bears wearing ‘Be Mine’ tees: it’s all aimed at people still finding the heartbeat, the rhythm of romance.
But what about those who already know that rhythm? What about the couples who have been together through decades of birthdays, mortgages, illnesses and more? If Valentine’s Day isn’t for them, then it’s missing something vital: that kind of love that’s less fireworks and more steady flame.
Old love is humble but brilliant. It’s steady and reassuring like your favourite song you never tire of. You don’t necessarily need grand gestures or fancy dinners, just someone who laughs at your bad jokes you’ve told many times before. Someone who knows when to hand you a cup of tea without you having to ask. Is that not the truest romance of all?
We don’t often see that kind of love celebrated in glossy ads or rom-com films. And yet, perhaps we should. The years strip away the drama, leaving something honest and beautifully ordinary. Perhaps Valentine’s Day could use a little more of that spirit. Instead of candlelit declarations, maybe it’s about a walk with someone who still makes you feel known. Or calling an old friend you haven’t spoken to in a while. We needn’t spend money to celebrate the ones we love.
The tradition itself wasn’t always wrapped in cellophane and sold separately. It began with St. Valentine, or rather, a few of them. Legend has it that the most famous, a Roman priest in the third century, lived at a time when Emperor Claudius II had outlawed marriage for young men, believing single soldiers made better warriors.
Valentine, moved by compassion, defied the decree and secretly married couples in love. When his actions were discovered, he was imprisoned and later executed, but not before signing a letter to his jailer’s daughter: from your Valentine.
And so, it was out of small acts of devotion that Valentine’s Day was born. Not as a festival of gifts or fleeting passion, but as a tribute to love’s persistence. Valentine risked his life for connection, believing that love was worth the cost of defiance.
That’s the kind of devotion that transcends age or fashion. It’s a love that shows up even if the odds are stacked against you. It doesn’t ask for anything in return. Perhaps that’s what endures beneath all the roses and ribbons: the belief that love, no matter how ordinary or ‘old’ it may seem, remains the most radical act of all.
