Somewhat surprisingly, I do not hate Valentine's Day. It's certainly never been my favorite holiday, but I don't recall it ever causing me extensive amounts of emotional grief.
What I remember, are high school dances of the girls' preference variety. Butterflies in my stomach while I worked up the courage to ask the target of my affections.
I remember guilt, a year later, when that target and I were officially dating, and I didn't want to spend February 14th with my boyfriend.
I remember uneventful, casual days. Where this holiday passed by and I hardly noticed but for the extra amounts of the color red, down select aisles at the grocery store.
I remember a dark club, where patrons spent a cliche holiday dressed as cliche vampires. I remember dancing in platform heels, a vinyl corset. Feeling sexy and silly all at once.
I remember an after party, full of people whom I had never met. I remember drinking shitty beers and making shittier decisions. I remember being the most desired woman in the room.
I remember feeling powerful. I remember feeling scared.
I remember a taunt that pushed me over the edge.
I remember falling.
I remember an uncomfortable car in the dead of winter. I remember not taking it seriously. Just a casual, fun encounter, that didn't actually turn out to be all that much fun.
I remember having no idea or expectation of ever seeing you again, much less that you would end up changing my life.
Those memories are 2 years old now, and although I can say with certainty that I am a different, hopefully stronger person now, there is still an ache that doesn't always feel like it's 2 years old.
Some days are better than others. Apparently Valentine's week is not included in that category.