Pretty Lynne Writes

Full disclosure: this is the second time in my life I’ve written a piece with this title. 

The first was when I was 20 and writing for the student newspaper at my university. I was single and bitter about it, but having been a romantic since my early days, I wanted to mark the occasion. The tone of the piece was cynical but ended with me begrudgingly admitting to wanting a little romance in my life. 

I figured no one would read the column, but then I learned people were cutting it out and taping it to the doors of their dorm rooms. I wasn’t the only one hoping for hearts and flowers. 

Fast forward a lot of years – A LOT – and I find myself feeling the same way. The reality of the holiday hasn’t changed. It’s still a day ripped off from a religious tradition and transmuted into something to sell cards and flowers and candy. The mall jewellers have flyers in my mailbox and ads on TV for their reasonably priced heart-shaped lockets and promise rings. Kids stand in Walmart choosing cards with red envelopes and high price tags. Grocery stores stock extra flowers with at least one red rose in the bunches. It’s entirely driven by capitalism. 

But I’m a victim of Western culture, and I’m here to admit something embarrassing. I want the romance this day promises.  

The last Valentine’s Day of my very long relationship was marked by a card, given to me because I made a fuss about having something, anything, done. But as everyone knows, you can’t force romantic feelings. So when the card came, I opened it and dismissed it out of hand as disingenuous. 

I was right, it turned out. 

Last year, I marked the day by dropping a little anti-Valentine’s Day meet-cute story that was moderately popular, and recently I posted the audio version of it to Literotica, where it has been well received. It is one of my more romantic stories. 

But this year, I’m just feeling… sad. And I want to say it out loud (well, write it, because that’s what I do): Fuck Valentine’s Day. 

The very real possibility exists that no one will ever want to give me flowers on this day. That no one will ever lean close and whisper to me that I am their Valentine as I stand at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes. That no one will ever look at me like I mean the world to them. 

My friends tell me love is out there for me. And maybe it is. But I find it hard to hold on to that hope some days. 

What I do know is that I deserve to find that love, if it is out there for me. And so do you. No matter the marks left behind on our hearts by the people and disappointments of our past, we deserve to be loved for who we are. Not because we are pretty or smart or funny or special in any way, but because we are. Because we exist. 

So, if this day leaves you a little sad or bitter or feeling the weight of the day for whatever reason, I’m not going to tell you to focus on your community or pet or your relationship with yourself. I’m not going to say that it doesn’t have to be important or painful. I’m not going to assuage your fears by telling you it’s enough to be loved by friends. Even though these things are true, I’m not going to say that. 

I’m just going to tell you that I am here with you, feeling it too.