I used to look forward to Valentines Day. It used to be my favorite holiday. I loved it more than Christmas or New Years, I decorated more on Valentines than I did on Halloween, I marked it on my calendar before I marked my birthday. But now it's like a black hole, sucking all the life and love out of me.
The playlists I made with all of the 80's love songs I could think of played over and over and over again during the month of February. I spent most of my money on chocolates, teddy bears, candy hearts and construction paper. And, of course, I spent all of my time with him.
Everyday we talked, even if he didn't want to, every night we whispered into the phone, even if he was tired. Sometimes I'd think that he stared at me just as much as I stared at him, but he never met my eyes. I hoped his heart grew as full as mine when Valentine's Day came, but I could never tell. I prayed and prayed that it meant something when he touched my cheek or sat closer to me than he usually did, but he never let me get too close.
Sometimes he'd look at me as if he wanted to kiss me, but he never did. Sometimes he opened his arms as if he wanted to hug me, but he never did. Sometimes he'd open his mouth as if he was going to tell me he loved me. He never did.
Even though my heart could hardly take it, I left an unsigned Valentine in his locker every time the holiday rolled around. There were years I saw he pick up the small box of candy hearts and the carefully crafted paper flowers from his locker, and there were years I walked home instead of waiting for my mom to pick me up. But I knew that no matter what I did, he always did the same thing with the box of candy and the colorful bouquet of fake flowers. He threw them in the trash, he ripped them up, he stomped on them, he yelled and laughed with his friends, he hated them.
"What a fucking loser! They leave the same thing every year!"
He was never mean to me, it wasn't as if he knew it was me.
Most of the people from our small middle school transferred to the same high school, it would've been hard to pick through all the girls and boys who had a crush on him. He never would've guessed I was the one putting them into his locker anyways. I was his best friend and I had been since we were in elementary, why would I ever do that to him and not tell him?
But sometimes he joked that it was me. I'd get too close or I'd stare for too long and he'd say, "So you're the creep leaving those weird flowers in my locker then."
I'd turn red and laugh, going along with the joke, "About time you realized."
Then we'd laugh and I'd pretend it didn't hurt to hear him calling my flowers weird.
Why'd I keep leaving them in his locker if it hurt? Why would I do that to myself for so many years? Because, deep down, I hoped maybe his lingering eyes and fleeting touches meant something. I hoped he'd realize it was me and he'd be less weirded out by the candy hearts and the white daisies made of paper. I thought, if he liked me enough, if he had fallen in love with me like I'd fallen in love with him, the cute sayings on the hearts might start to mean something. But how foolish, to will someone's feelings to match your own just because it made you feel better.
I guess this February I realized not everyone thinks with their heart.
I was walking to the exit of the school building when I heard him say it. I was practically skipping with joy because that day he'd taken my gift out of his locker and looked at it for a really long time, before sighing and putting both the candy and the flowers in his bag. It'd never happened before, and I almost ran forward to confess it was me. But I stopped myself and turned down the hallway instead, hoping maybe tomorrow he'd confront me and confess he loved me too.
