I haven’t celebrated Valentine’s Day in quite a long time.
It’s not that I have anything against the holiday in particular. It’s just that my wife’s and my birthdays and our anniversary (and Christmas) all fall within three months of each other. There’s just no more room for gift-giving.
So for me, Valentine’s Day is a holiday that exists in my childhood memory: a holiday of slipping store-bought cards into shoeboxes at elementary school parties. (Of course, we had to give Valentines to everyone, regardless of how we actually felt about the children in question.) It was a holiday of candy hearts and chocolate kisses, as if we needed a candy-related holiday to tide us over between Halloween and Easter.
Each Valentine’s Day passed by pretty innocuously. None of the cards ever said anything particularly meaningful.
Until, one Valentine’s Day, I learned I had a secret admirer.
Learn who sent me the note at Prodigal Magazine.