Mistletoe = kissing. That's how I associate the parasitic plant that is oftentimes hung above a doorway during the holidays. But what is the true history of it? Research told me that there were several theories about how mistletoe became associated with kissing.

I’ve wanted to know if people in Spain even celebrated Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t sure if the day was only big in North America and not significant worldwide. Because in the States, several weeks before February 14th, we see billboards and signs all over storefront windows advertising the fact that businesses have something special for a loved one. Almost like at Christmas time. However, during our travels in Spain, as the day approached, I only saw one sign depicting the traditional symbol of the day: the heart.

A scream pierced that quiet night as I ran from the church in search of my beloved Maria. She was to meet me after mass for a clandestine night alone, away from our families — even though we knew it was wrong — because we were deeply in love and tried to find every opportunity to be together. But she did not show up at our meeting place after waiting and waiting.

As I began stroking, the moans came naturally as I raised my head up and back. The strokes felt so damned good — near cathartic — until I noticed the shower curtain move. I stopped my hand and looked more closely, hoping I had imagined the moving curtain. But then I saw masculine fingers grasp the fabric and plastic barrier to pull aside cautiously.

My breath caught. Just as I thought I’d never seen anything more beautiful, more colors came bursting forth just down the beach, and then more and more. Every which way we looked the sky was aflame with startling showers of vibrant hues that doubled in magnitude from their reflections on the water, the likes of which I have never experienced.

My canvas, representing the space for love I have in my heart, is vast and empty. It stands barren against the gigantic easel waiting, hoping to be touched by an artist who will give it life, who will give it purpose, who will give it meaning.

Met at Bandolino’s for pizza and some drinks

So far I am thinkin’ that this blind date

really stinks

Perhaps I should give it a chance

I say to myself when my date

Orders booze from top of the shelf

A heavy breath of air slid from her mouth. Swallowing hard, a flash from her childhood crowded uninvited into her mental visuals.

A young Emily sat in a tall wooden chair wanting to disappear through the slats as she pressed her slender back against them. Her grandmother’s sallow face was just inches from her own, a saggy mask of bulging eyes and stretched out mouth full of yellowed teeth. Sour breath blew into the wide-eyed face as the old woman screeched out her warning.

Darkness hovered around the perimeter of the kitchen unable to venture too close to the dim rays that drifted from the hooded bulb over the table. Sitting on the edge of a wooden chair, Emily leaned into the protective glow, with elbows propped on a worn, ragged mat. Glancing down at the quilted fabric, she saw frayed edges and broken threads that reminded her of seedlings reaching up to catch the light. She understood that need, but looked away, tightening her grip around the mug she held pressed against her cheek.