Tomorrow is February 14th, 2011. Valentine's Day. A day for men to spend obnoxious amounts of money on flowers, candies, cards, jewelry, restaurant reservations and lingerie for their wives or girlfriends or both, and for children to get hyped up on sugar and for teens to have awkward dates and awkward sex and the rest of the world to sit and be lonely. Florists charge exorbitant prices for semi-fresh roses; candy companies, condom manufacturers, fancy restaurants and hotels see a sharp rise in sales, and all the single people of the world celebrate Singles Awareness Day. S.A.D. Call me bitter and jaded and cynical all you want.
Last Valentine's Day, not only did I have a boyfriend, but that boyfriend also happened to be not only local, but in my immediate presence. He bought me a single, perfect, pink rose: tender, innocent love. He kissed me in front of all the people I worked with and a crowded street - a rare moment - and for once, I thought there was merit to this retarded Hallmark Holiday. Tonight, however, a year and a thousand tears later, I'm wishing I'd cherished that day more, made a bit more out of it. Enjoyed starlight instead of cheap pizza, told him how perfect I felt when we were together instead of telling him how much I hated my hair. Not that he remembers any of that...
Tomorrow I will smile, laugh, enjoy my job, and not let on how lonely I am. I won't secretly wish for him to kiss me, I won't remember every night we stayed up 'til sunrise talking about marriage and children and forever. I won't cry myself to sleep just because some greeting-card funded calendar-making bastard says that because I don't have a special someone who buys me flowers and calls me beautiful, I should be miserable.
I think we can all agree that tomorrow will be just another fucking Monday.