Suicide no. 25: Remember the Valentines

Suicide no. 25: Remember the Valentines

–by Derek Alan Wilkinson

Will you remember us forever? Crossing your heart, and hoping to die?

Would you, in all of your lovelorn infatuation, remember us all—for we are the forsaken. We are the Valentines.

Remember us as we hang from nooses, gunshot skulls splattering memories on the walls. Remember how we ate that whole bottle of pills, simply because we wanted something that was so much more than we could ever become. Remember us awestruck with beauty, and struck down by the bitter reality of life.

Remember us because we, or at least one of the two of us, were “in love.”

As you eat your stupid dinner, and place your meaningless jewelry, let us haunt you until your graves—for we were the lovelorn who never made it. We were the starved in need of that one kind of affection never to be had. We took our own lives, willingly, because we knew, deep down, that nothing in this world—not even life itself—could replace how we felt, and how far and deep into such we’d fallen.

When you buy your petty rings and necklaces, and your chocolates, and make your small efforts to show “that one” just how much you care—remember us, for we died on the fields of an endless, empty struggle: we died so that we’d never have to find out just how ugly the world could be without our beloved. We gave in to death before death became all that was our lives.

Remember that we perished in love’s eternal wake.

Remember that the trees all blossom in the spring, and that, as always, autumn will take its toll—its vengeance—upon us all.

And our lives—scorned loves and regrets—shall litter the earth like leaves in January, and that there is nothing to take their place but our endless supply of corpses:

For life, and thus, love, must always end the same—in death.


Inspired by the Daily Post’s Weekly Prompt:


9 thoughts on “Suicide no. 25: Remember the Valentines

  1. Wow. Simply wow. I don’t even know where to begin. This is my definite favorite so far…so intricate, touching so many of life’s problems…it seems to me to address selfishness in particular. Beautiful altogether. One thing that makes me think this story should be published is because I recognize my reading process. With published books with morals, I often labor over the analysis, but it’s not simple, and it seems to be right on the tip of my tongue but I can’t grasp it. Ah! Amazing story! I only wish I could figure it out for myself…I really need more practice with this…think you could explain it a little for me?


    1. I’ll tell you–with this one, it mostly came from the gut. I didn’t need to think through the best way to explain it. I just wrote what I felt at the time, and that doesn’t always come out good–with the exception of times like this.

      It’s my own version of that old song, “Love Hurts.”

      I think that, when you can read something, and feel yourself inspired by it–not because you wrote it, or felt it, but because it says something about the human condition–THAT’S when you’ve got something worth writing.

      I can re-read this not because I’m somehow proud of it as a piece, but because I may as well be reading someone else’s work. I’m moved by it because of what it says–NOT because I’m the author–and feel lucky to have been its mouthpiece.

      1. No kidding. I’m glad you can write “from the gut”—I’ve known so many authors who don’t. I’m also glad you can appreciate your work like that. I’ve wasted so much time because I couldn’t appreciate mine. When I was a lot younger and didn’t yet have a computer, I’d write my stories in journals my dad gave me, and I went through this phase where I would literally erase and destroy pages…and for emphasis, let me assure you these stories were saved in no other place. Once I’d ripped them, they were *gone* forever.


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