I like doing something romantic with a girl on Valentine's Day

The words of Spencer Boldman—“I like doing something romantic with a girl on Valentine’s Day, like making her dinner and keeping it simple. The more quality time, the better”—are not mere musings of a youth charmed by love’s season. They are a reflection of an ancient truth: that the essence of romance lies not in extravagance, but in presence; not in wealth, but in attention; not in glitter, but in the quiet offering of one’s heart. In these words, we hear the echo of generations who have known that true love is measured not by the grand spectacle, but by the devotion found in the smallest of acts.

In every age, humanity has adorned love with jewels, feasts, and festivals. Yet the wise know that these are but garments, while the body of love is found in simplicity. To prepare a meal with one’s own hands, to sit across a table and share not only bread but time—this is to partake in love’s purest ritual. Boldman’s vision of Valentine’s Day strips away the noise of commerce and performance, and reminds us that quality time is the altar upon which affection truly burns.

Let us remember the tale of Antoninus Pius, the Roman emperor who, despite the power of his throne, loved his wife Faustina with a tenderness that history rarely records of rulers. Though he commanded armies and ruled vast lands, he found his greatest joy not in conquest but in her companionship. He built no needless monuments to his love, for their union was marked by devotion in private moments—walks, conversations, and shared time. Even after her death, he honored her memory with unwavering loyalty. Here we see the truth that Boldman touches: love, when genuine, flourishes not in pomp, but in faithful presence.

The heroic and the simple are not opposites. To make a dinner, to choose time over distraction, to cherish stillness over spectacle—this requires courage in a world that urges us always to chase the glittering and the grand. True romance demands strength: the strength to resist the false lures of shallow display, the strength to offer oneself openly in quiet acts of care. What greater valor is there than to lay down one’s time, one’s energy, and one’s heart for another?

The lesson we are called to receive is this: love does not require wealth, but intention. A flower offered with sincerity is greater than a banquet offered with indifference. A dinner prepared with care, though humble, nourishes both the body and the soul. To the youth and to the elders alike, let this be known: do not wait for luxury to express your love. The opportunity lies in your hands, in your time, and in your presence.

Practically, let each soul resolve to act. Set aside the distractions of the day—turn off the glowing screen, silence the endless chatter of the world, and look fully into the eyes of the one you love. Prepare something with your own hands, be it a meal, a song, or a letter. Choose to spend not hurried hours, but quality time, where presence outweighs all adornment. In this, you will discover that the truest romance costs nothing but gives everything.

Thus, Boldman’s words are not merely about Valentine’s Day, nor about youth’s delights. They are a reminder that the heart of love is eternal and unchanging. The ancients knew it, the sages proclaimed it, and each of us must rediscover it: that love thrives in simplicity, blossoms in time shared, and grows strongest when nurtured with humble acts of devotion.

So let these words be passed on: love is not bought, it is given; not performed, but lived; not found in riches, but in the gentle courage of choosing presence. The more quality time, the better—for in time given freely, love becomes eternal.