Once u-pun a time (because no story by Elan has ever been started without a pun), a young woman wrote a letter.
The letter was written for a boy, and though nothing became of the letter, she became fond of the idea of being the recipient of such a personal note.
Remembering how it was handmade, crafted with care, written in sloppy cursive, and sealed with a good luck kiss and a spritz of her signature perfume, her hand itched to write another.
Misplaced in the mail, or received and thrown out, the letter was lost in transition, but was not lost in the girl’s heart.
Inspired by her work, and disappointed with the lack of suitors sending letters her way, she decided to write herself her own letter. ‘Twas to be no ordinary letter though, but a love letter.
The day was Valentine’s, and in the midst of marketed messages teasing her about her single status, she decided to treat herself to a day of love; for in her eyes, the best love she had ever had was that to which she gave herself.
And so she wrote.
Curled up in her newest pink 1960’s penoir set, hair done up from a trip to the salon, she poured herself a glass of rose, lit a candle, and set about writing her love letter.
my love,
what a beautiful day it is. you’re awake, you’re alive, and its your special day. ‘twat do we have planned? i hope that when you wake up, the birds sing to you as you get dressed and the sun shines through your window, because i know how much you adore waking up like Sleeping Beauty.
take a good look in the mirror and tell me what you see. sleepy eyes, long luscious locks cascading down your shoulders and over your chest, a shy smile forms itself across your face as you notice you noticing yourself. your legs touch and you feel the smoothness of them from a luscious bath the night before. the day is optimistic and you pull aside your closet doors and direct your eyes to the reds and pinks.
your phone buzzes, but you needn’t check who it is, because it’s not who you long it to be. he hasn’t texted. i hope you remember what we talked about? as rupi kaur puts it best: “do not bother holding on to that thing that does not want you. you cannot make it stay.” this is a day of love, not hopeless pining.
heart skipping a beat as you think of the day ahead, you get dressed, enjoying the luxury of slipping into clothes that make you feel so good. confident and sure of yourself, i anticipate you leave the house in search of coffee.
coffee is fuel for your soul, and because it’s Valentine’s Day, i know you’ll treat yourself to something extra special (dare i say white mocha?). a breakfast so special that it warrants a trip to the Moose Is Loose Bakery, where i see you standing by the cases in your striking outfit pointing to the biggest apple fritter you can see.
passing by couples, you try and accept and embrace their happiness instead of comparing yourself to their chapters. you try not to be jealous because you know you’ve also got a lover waiting for you at home, a lover who knows, appreciates, and pleases you more intimately than anyone you’ve ever known.
i know you spend the rest of the day treating yourself to simple pleasures: a bouquet of roses to put on your bedside table, a slow dance in your bedroom, arms wrapped around your waist as you soak in your own sexiness.
you end the day alone, but not lonely.
you settle in for the night reflecting on where you are in life and think of ways to encourage others to do the same. though you’re on the edge of insecurity, susceptible to painful memories of disappointing days in which you went through yet another February 14th without a Valentine, i know you’re strong.
you’ll take that unique perspective and use it to help change how the world perceives love, in its many variations and forms.
specifically, how you believe love is expressed in ways that aren’t just between romantic partners. how it’s also expressed through family, friends, and most importantly: oneself.
in a world learning to accept self-love as necessary and not selfish, you smile at how you cared for your special self on this day: body, mind, and spirit.
you’ve interpreted love to be a declaration of self-acceptance, and that is brave.
do i sense the desire to cry?
let those tears out. trust what your body is telling you, you’re only human.
you’re still insecure, but why?
i get it. you’re a woman who craves attention, validation, and intimacy with another but you’re forgetting that you hold all of those things within yourself. i know the world’s convinced you to look to another for completion, but you have to learn that you’ve got the power to please, the power to love, and the power to accept yourself as whole already.
it’s a process and it takes time. as you work through it, work through the days in which you fall back into old patterns and fall for the Prince Charmings who hand you poison apples instead of glass slippers, remember the one love who remained by your side through it all.
(sincerely,)
your love.
