AND IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING IT GOT ME

Since I was a little girl I have had mixed emotions about today -St. Valentine's. I have many very good friends, but almost never a romantic interest in me. I mean, I have always been in unrequited love. Except for a few years ago, that seem like a century to me.
I got his first Valentine's and I thought it was the cutest thing ever. No, cute is not the right adjective. It has to be something with more substance, cute is for babies and Pomeranians. No, this feeling this Valentine card stirred in me was something more intense, deeper. It was a sense of recognition, of being taken into account, like some sort of validation. It showed me he had taken the time to look for a particular card, not just any would do. It told me how he had thought about buying one, maybe he  kept it in a secret drawer for a while, thinking what he was going to write. Then he wrote things. He didn't write one long thought, but several little words, all scattered everywhere. Little notes, messages, like tiny cupids fluttering about. Ok, silly stuff, but good humoredly, thoughtful. We were silly, it was a way of communicating between us. It was a real surprise. I really didn't expect it. It was extremely nice and it actually melted my heart. I understood the expression cheesy, because I felt my heart like cheese melting over a hot pan, and it was not disgusting, it was nice, it was beautiful, it was memorable, I don't know if I ever managed to make him understand the importance of this, maybe not. The next year he sent the card + chocolates, then card + chocolates and a book and so forth. It was addictive, each time I wanted more. I dreamt with the moment he would come to give me my card in person, but he never did.
Whatever happened, the pilot that kept the boiler warm extinguished. He just said goodbye. Well, it was not that simple, but it was that final. And today I feel like a widow.
And this is why I loath St. Valentine's Day.