Simone

As a kid, Valentine’s Day meant the attainment of small holographic cards and exorbitant amounts of candy. My parents gave me presents now and then. I wore pink and red, and when I remembered to, I called my grandmother and told her I loved her. I knew Valentine’s Day was a capitalist sham, and that I loved everyone as much on this day as I did any other. But, I assumed one day, the holiday would include a real, live boyfriend. One with whom I’d share a love passionate and everlasting, and exchange lovely gifts, and spend the day and evening.

Adolescent Valentine’s Days are nothing similar to how I’d envisioned them, but I don’t necessarily have a problem with that. My singleness makes me all the more experimental and free. When I do want intimacy, I can seek it out without having to worry about something as daunting as COMMITMENT. And most people I know only commit to long-term relationships to create a sense of maturity. Things like driving and experimenting with illicit substances (while NOT simultaneously) have that same effect upon the rest of us.

I felt lonely today, but I know wouldn’t have if I’d been with my friends, or spent more time with my family. I also have no idea what a romantic Valentine’s Day is supposed to feel like—I’ve never been in a serious relationship, and the only man I’ve ever loved is Harry Styles. In a sense, Valentine’s Day means nothing to me because it never did.

I guess the most noteworthy thing about this holiday is that my birthday is November 14th. ♦