This is something: I do not hate Valentines Day.
What I won't do is bombard you with platitudes and clichés because then I would have to hate me, and I'm quite partial to liking me. But just because your life in no way resembles a Rom Com at this moment in time, doesn't mean you don't have a love story. It just looks different. It's unfolding, if you will. In process, or whatever. My life is full of love. It is a gift that is at once and the same time both excruciating and delicious; it means my heart is wrenched beyond what I think it can bear but it also means it is full beyond my own capacities. I am given opportunities to love all over every single day and even when I don't take those opportunities, even when I really suck at love, I wake up again the next morning and there are more chances, more opportunities, and I am refilled with love to give. Like magic.
And you know what? I'm ok, and I'm glad I'm ok, but it doesn't mean I don't wonder. It doesn't mean I don't hope. It doesn't mean I don't want. And while it would be nice if you were here already, I've got plenty to do until you get here so I'm sure I won't get bored. See you when I see you.
Maybe right now love feels scarce. But I promise you. It's not.