February 14th
I always found St Valentine stupid. I saw that bunch of people walking hand in hand and it seemed silly to me that they were celebrating something that doesn’t exist: love. For me, love was always no more than a lost cause, one of the many faces of the lie and a way to disguise the loneliness that each one of us carries inside. I used to throw away the roses they sent me for Valentine's Day. I only kept the ones my father sent me, maybe because those were the only ones I felt mine. Never the chocolates gave me as much disgust as the chocolates in the form of heart and never a card had made me want to cause a fire like those that they sent to me at February 14th; Maybe because none of those gifts ever came from you. You were never a romantic, me neither, but sometimes I wanted you to hug me tightly, whispering to me an "I love you" but that never happened: as your gifts never arrived for Valentine's Day, only your farewell arrived. Only your flight arrived. What a coincidence that day was fourteen.