A nice, depressing, abstracted rumination for Valentine's Day: "lovers cradling one another on the beach, murmuring the three words that are the highest expression of what they mean to each other".
It's not that I'm aromantic. It's just that I am romantically susceptible to cynicism, and intellectually vulnerable to torrents of well-punctuated words. I know my weaknesses.
This post's theme word is aleatory "depending on the throw of a die". Luck in romance is partially aleatory. (Of note: aléatoire means "at random", and is very useful for attending mathematical talks in French.)