Valentine’s Day is not on my radar. Weird, huh?

It’s historically been a disappointment. At times when I have been single it didn’t really bother me much. It’s always been more painful to endure while in a relationship than out of one. It seems like the holiday that makes me painfully aware of how disatisfying my relationships have been.

I can’t remember the last few Valentine’s Day’s with S. I remember being happy because S always tried really hard to make them perfect. With him trying so hard it didn’t really need to be perfect because I knew how much he loved me. Just the effort was all I needed.

If I go further back though, Valentine’s was always a huge letdown. Usually because it was so apparent my significant other had no idea what would make me happy, or worse; didn’t care.

For now though, I’m actually fine. I’m grateful for that. I feel at peace with S for now. I can just love his happy memories and be grateful for them.

He always bought me flowers. Big beautiful bouquets that I loved. He picked them out and had them wrapped in nice paper. He knew what I liked and was happy to give them to me. He was very romantic.

Our first Valentine’s day he brought expensive champagne and we stayed in and did Molly and had sex for hours. He was always so worried I wasn’t happy enough. I was just happy that he cared so much. All his worrying ended up being for nothing until he made it something by worrying. That sounds strange, but he eventually obsessed to the point of making his concerns a reality.

I miss him. My romantic handsome monster. His curly blonde hair and blue eyes. I love him. I’m grateful that I still love him after all this messy tragic trauma.