Love, Me.

Ah Valentine’s Day. What a complicated past we have had.

One might even say that my relationship with you has always been one sided, an unrequited love. Every year, as February draws near, despite my acceptance in my single status, I nonetheless fall prey to all the sappy commercialized romance and am one of the many that hope for a miracle. I long for things to be different, where I’ll someday be the recipient of that bouquet of flowers, his love letter, or some chocolates, simply to be someone else’s Valentine.

After all, it has been my whole life, waiting.

And so, in a moment of weakness, in a twisted attempt to make myself feel better, I found myself looking through old messages on my phone, days before this year’s Valentines.

Sound familiar? We’ve been down this road before.

What lay before me, undeleted and dusty, were texts I had saved from my past, too steamy to delete, from a lover, lost long ago.

We no longer talk, but as my eyes ran hungrily over conversation I had told myself I had forgotten (but had really just shoved away out of hurt and heartache), my cheeks blushed and my heart skipped its beat.

Like no time had passed at all, his words had their usual effect on me.

And it was in that moment, as tears once again made their way out, as I cursed his name for making me feel this deeply even after all this time, that I decided to write.

Enough is enough.

My thirst for attention, validation, and completion has led me to drink from this poisoned cup, and I have let myself reconnect with someone who, despite making my body feel a certain way, was toxic.

As I wrote, as my feelings came flying out of my fingertips and onto my keyboard, I felt a conversation ensue between how I felt, and how I long to feel someday.

My hands grasp for something, it’s been so long since a man bought me flowers.

Tonight, I’ll buy you flowers and water them for you, give them life. You’re just as capable of giving something nourishment.

My face hardens, it’s been so long since my cheeks blushed in anticipation of being close to him.

Tonight, I’ll be the one to make you blush.

My eyes search, it’s been so long since I read words that a man wrote to me that made my body feel a certain way.

Tonight, I’ll write even more scandalous and saucy content for you; I am a writer, after all.

My ears grow weary of waiting, it’s been so long since I was his first hello and his last goodbye.

Tonight, I alone will wish you a splendid sleep. After all, it is I who see you every morning, and every night.

My body shivers, it’s been so long since I had his arms wrap around me and hold me close.

Tonight, I’ll make use of my long limbs and hold your brilliant body even closer.

Parts of my body ache, it’s been so long since I’ve felt a man’s touch.

Tonight, you are mine to touch. I’ll make magic with my fingers and remind you of the power you hold in your hands.

My heart hurts, It’s been so long since I’ve felt liked, wanted, desired.

Tonight, I’ll like, want, and desire you wholly.

Why, after all this time, do I feel this way? I make such a conscious effort to be comfortable in this skin, this bountiful body, and I feel myself get stronger, little by little, and yet every year when Valentine’s Day draws near, I can’t help but compare myself to what I don’t have, this so called “lover” of my own.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m weak when it comes to accepting who I am and who I’m not with, as the journey of acceptance is arduous and emotional.

I realized though, after foolishly rereading messages that once brought me those kinds of feelings but now bring me nothing but tears, is that even though he’s not in my life anymore, it doesn’t mean the attention, passion, validation, acceptance, and love goes away with him.

I’m finding that I am just as capable of making myself feel whole, complete, wanted and desired, regardless of whether some guy is in my life nor not.

That despite the assumption that “You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Loves You”, I am somebody because I am loved.

By me.

I have the hands to write words that I thought only a man could articulate.

I have the wicked imagination to make myself blush in public.

I can wish myself good morning and goodnight.

I can touch myself in ways no man ever has.

I can clutch myself in my own hug, what an intimacy that is!

I can buy my own damn flowers, and I can embrace this journey were I’m learning to want, desire, like, and love who I am, without relying on someone else to give it to me.

I don’t need someone to love me.

I need to love me.

So this year, I’m doing things a little differently.

Though my favorite (and only) doughnut shop has closed (and I can no longer treat myself to that massive apple fritter), I decided to reach out to my friend Keelyn, an incredibly talented photographer (and friend), and gift myself a photoshoot.

In an outfit that had previously been reserved for my eyes only worn on occasions that went hand in hand with slow dancing in front of my mirror, I now courageously don to remind myself that I shouldn’t feel ashamed of being single on Valentine’s Day.

It’s a blessing to be given this opportunity to grow up learning how to be intimate with myself, to discover who I am and what I want so that when the day does come when I find someone, it won’t be for completion or to fill gaps and holes, but to complement and be my equal.

So you could day that I got my bouquet of flowers this year, my love letter, my box of chocolates. They just came in the form of a photoshoot, which will last much longer.

And it was from my greatest Valentine.

Love, me.