Valentine's Day, Aisle Four

CVS Pharmacy — Store 4417 / 7832 Millbrook Road / February 14, 3:08 AM WHITMAN'S SAMPLER CHOCOLATES — $8.99 / SYMPATHY CARD VAL DAY — $4.99 / ADVIL LIQUI-GELS 10CT — $5.49 / SNAPPLE LEMON TEA 16OZ — $1.89 / TOTAL — $22.95 / Cashier: Self-checkout / Have a nice day.

He didn't plan to go. That's the first thing you notice. Nobody plans a 3 AM CVS run for Valentine's chocolates — not when the separation has been final since November, not when he hasn't had her address in three months. He'd told himself he'd skip the whole day, sleep through the fourteenth the same way you sleep through a tooth that stopped hurting. But there he is at 3:08 AM on Millbrook Road, under a single sodium lamp, holding a Whitman's sampler and a red envelope addressed to nobody.

The Advil makes a certain kind of sense. So does the lemon Snapple — she kept them in the fridge, every afternoon beside the kitchen window, a detail so ordinary it never registered as anything worth keeping until it was gone. The card is $4.99, generic, says for you on Valentine's Day, and he bought it knowing he couldn't mail it. This is what grief does when it gets practical: it itemizes. It stands in aisle four at 3 AM and spends $22.95 on evidence.

This song starts in that parking lot and ends with a bag on a passenger seat, leaning against a closed door. The spoken receipt is the whole document — it's a man's February in four line items and a total, run through a self-checkout that didn't ask him anything.

[Verse 1] The parking lot was empty when I pulled in off the road One orange streetlamp and a sodium glow I told myself I needed something, Advil maybe, tea But I was standing in the card aisle by the time that I could see

I picked a card that said for you on Valentine's Day The envelope was red, the sentiment was plain I didn't have an address — haven't had one since November But I bought the Whitman's sampler out of something like a prayer

[Chorus] She used to pick the caramels out and leave the rest for me Now there's nobody picking — just the fluorescent light and me Standing in aisle four at three AM with fourteen months of trying And a box of chocolates going somewhere they ain't going

[Verse 2] I got the lemon Snapple 'cause she kept them in the fridge She'd drink them every afternoon beside the kitchen window The cashier was a self-checkout — no questions, no reply I paid in cash, I took my bag, I drove back through the night

The radio had love songs that I couldn't even stand A man was singing something about holding someone's hand I killed the sound at Millbrook Road and just drove in the quiet Thinking how a Whitman's box is eight ninety-nine in February

[Chorus] She used to pick the caramels out and leave the rest for me Now there's nobody picking — just the fluorescent light and me Standing in aisle four at three AM with fourteen months of trying And a box of chocolates going somewhere they ain't going

[Bridge] The bag is on my passenger seat now Next to nothing, leaning on the door The card inside, unsigned and sealed Says something I should've said before Advil for a headache I've been carrying since November Snapple tea for someone who won't be there to drink it Maybe February's just the cruelest kind of reminder That some receipts you hold onto without reason

[Final Chorus] She used to pick the caramels out and leave the rest for me Now the whole box goes untouched — just the fluorescent light and me Standing in aisle four at three AM with my fourteen months of silence And a card I never signed for someone who has moved on

[Outro] (upright bass, walking alone — slide guitar answering — brushed snare at half-time — slow fade to silence)