At least... I wanted you to be my Valentine.
It's Valentine's Day today. But you know that. You know that because of all the people around you who are gushing over the cards they've received, the little candies taped to hastily cut paper heart mass-produced by students who only cared about finishing the job so they could sneak the leftover candies in their pocket.
And you're alone. And I'm alone.
But you don't want to be my Valentine, do you? No, you had to make your feelings clear only yesterday. You don't care. I bet you didn't even notice how my smile, so warm and bright near you, slid from my face like the spring runoff that wears away at the mountain until no soil is left to grow the trees and flowers, and it becomes barren and desolate, unfit for life.
I've never had a Valentine. I've always been alright with that- I've got many more years ahead of me, full of love, relationships and break-ups. But why does it pain me now? Hope. Your words. They hurt, even though I know you never want to hurt me.
"People keep asking me if I, you know... like like you."
My heart leapt.
"It's weird and-and silly. Why would they think that?"
My friend, even if I was too shy to ask you anything today, I could have harboured the hope that perhaps you, too, were shy, but that we could have sat beside each other as we always do, looking over every so often, sharing a glance, a smile, a bit of happiness.
But I cannot be angry. You did nothing wrong. I love your frankness, your casual ways, your lack of sensitivity, even if it hurts me now. So I'll sit there, this letter burned and buried but it's feelings in my heart.