I Hate Valentine’s Day
a letter to my (not)Valentine
Dear (not)Valentine,
I don’t put much stock in this holiday. I’ve never been much on forced once-a-year displays. I prefer spontaneity and genuine moments of passion.
I’m telling you this because while I don’t care for the holiday, it does affect me by shoving in my face, all day long, my failure to be the one for you or even a one for you. At the same time, I don’t know why or how, but in all my years I’ve never had anyone get under my skin the way you have.
I’ve tried to burn it out, drink it out, wait it out, and hope it out. I’ve tried to force my worst memories of you to the top in order to hurt myself enough that the crushing sorrow would be stronger than my want of you.
No matter what I’ve tried, nothing has proven stronger than that simple want. I’m helpless in it.
Today is full of prompts and triggers, a constant reminder of kisses, an unending cavalcade of people who want each other enough to be together, so simple, yet so impossible for me. Today I think about you more than usual, a lot more.
Today is full of unanswered questions mixed with a painful desire to just hold you, smell your hair, feel you sink into me, kiss your neck, hear my name on your lips, whisper words in your ear, feel your breath on me.
Today is full of dead wishes, broken plans, pointless longing, grudging acceptance, memories of smiles and laughter, unsaid words, and reminders of a deep hollow place in my heart where no one fits but you.
Despite everything, my one wish today is to look in your eyes and see you smile for me. It can’t happen, won’t happen, but, like I said, you’re way under my skin.
Those are my confessions, my (would-have-been)Valentine. After everything, I still want you. I’ve given up on the idea, but the feelings are still there, strong, at least for now. I used to hope that you’d remember why you wanted me and tell me you made a mistake. Now I just hope that one day soon the thought of you will no longer give me butterflies and make my pulse race. I hope one day soon I’ll no longer hurt from the absence of you. I hope this ache will go away.
I’m beginning to think maybe hope is an unwise investment.
P.S. I still think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.
Sincerely,
— Heath
