I’ve always felt Valentine’s Day was marketed, too generally. I mean, how to find the card for that friend/crush you share silence with in a way that feels like your cheating on their on-again/off again girlfriend? Be. My. Valentine.

Or one for the latest ex that will always be in your field though you’ve moved on, because it’s hopeless, but a brush of the knee still arouses you and he’s the only one you talk to about what matters most.

Also, I’d love a card for that romantic you write to ending in Hemingway quotes, forgetting about him most the time until you see him and wonder why is that not working…? Definitely need something for the one who never calls, but you look for him on every corner wishing to kiss him one more late night soon. I. Like. You.

Of course, a card for the one who got away, who married, but you know what you know, and you two will never not find each other in a room, so you just deal drinking bubbly while they talk in ‘we.’ And what about a proper Valentine for your best girlfriends, please? Who look hot as hell, telling you you’re better than this fling, swearing you to secrecy their deepest thoughts, and you do. UR. The. Best.

I’d also send a Valentine to that tatted guy at the grocery store who checks out my items slowly so we can look at each other and exchange anything beyond the weather. Crushing so hard core, you almost forget about the latest ex, or the fact that you’re single at all because love comes from all kinds of people, in all kinds of ways.

Romantic love is sensationalized, brought to you by Hollywood and break-up albums; and even if you found someone to hang half a lifetime with—you still have to figure out how to love yourself, how to hold the Divine and link to the greatest Love. Which makes me think, why don’t we send Valentine’s to ourselves?

Because giiirrll… You. Deserve. It.