I used to love Valentine’s Day
because he was here.
From kindergarten on up to second grade, I would read my
poorly constructed paper hearts and
illegibly written store-bought cards
with a perfectly pleased and appeased smile.
And then I’d see him, greet him, talk to him,
wish him a happy Valentine’s day.
And then he’d leave and we’d know
we’d see each other in
just a week or two.
Once he left, I expected things to stay the same,
but a love unforgotten is not easily satisfied.
Paper hearts and store-bought cards
never again filled me with joy
because he never called.
I waited by the phone,
checking the mailbox twice a day,
sending him letters to pass the time away,
and yet, and yet,
nothing.
I was older, after a while.
Paper hearts didn’t come my way,
because I didn’t get valentines.
I wasn’t worth falling in love over.
I was a face in the crowd to most,
and the only thing keeping me sane
was the thought that
he knew who I was.
He forgot me on another holiday,
one forever unnameable in my head,
and tears fell for weeks
but then I was free.
So I flew from all my old notions,
even though he was 1945 and 1511,
Valentine’s Day and November to me,
all decayed with my memory of him.
I fell in love in the fall,
which makes sense because I don’t think
about my emotions like a rational creature,
I topple into them, a fall.
floating leaves the background of memory.
So I joke about how falling
for someone who thinks I’m just
another face in the crowd
solved all of my problems,
but somehow, it did. At least, I think so.
It’s Valentine’s Day today.
I received paper hearts
and store-bought cards
enough to fill up my soul.
And even though
you didn’t look at me
and he didn’t call,
I am okay this Valentine’s Day.