Orionis didn’t want to die, so he embraced Death, dancing nonstop from dusk to dawn. Orionis was exhausted, stopping to breathe at the cost of his heart chipping away some more. As he resumed the dance, Orionis grilled Death, trying to find out why he was targeted since he was perfectly healthy and didn’t engage in any risky behavior, but Death never answered. The two danced all day, all night, all week, all month, all year. Anytime Orionis broke away to do anything that would’ve made him happy, he lost more of his heart. Eventually, he was left with one last piece the size of a pebble.

If Orionis stopped dancing with Death one more time, he’d be his forever.

One day, right when Orionis was ready to hang up his cloak, aka throw in the towel, he crossed paths with an elder whose heart was so golden it shone through his chest like rays of sunshine. He was so carefree as he lived his life—fishing, performing, cooking, even dancing alone so dizzyingly fast that he fell to the ground, laughing at himself until his face was red. But he lost all color when he saw how miserable Orionis was with Death.

And here’s where it gets real, and why I got all this on my mind.

“May I cut in?” the elder asked Death.

Blinded by the golden heart, Death turned away. “No. He’s my dance partner.”

“I was hoping to dance with you,” the elder said.

“No,” Death echoed. “You’re too bright with life.”

Having lived with dreams fulfilled, the elder reached into his chest and ripped out his shine, aka his heart, because the darkest fairy tales get real bloody like that. He handed it to Orionis, the glow so bright it warded off Death, pushing him into the elder’s arms. Together, the new dancing partners swayed like a tree shedding its leaves, and once they hit the ground, they vanished in Death’s shadow.

Alone, Orionis swapped out his gray, crumbling heart for the radiant golden heart and lived happily ever after.

There’s so much about that story that always felt like a fantasy to me, especially the promise of a longer life, but now I’m being offered that reality.

Valentino wants to give me his heart.

This isn’t some romantic Valentine’s Day card shit either; this is literal.

I stare at Valentino for one minute or one hour, I don’t know. I’m speechless at his ridiculously beautiful and generous gesture, though there’s no way this is serious. I’m lucky, but there’s no way in hell I’m this lucky. Also, Valentino hasn’t given this any thought, and that’s exactly what I tell him: “You haven’t given this any thought.”