I went shopping tonight and passed by a display of Valentine’s Day cards. I found one that was perfect for you. And then I found one that was a little more perfect for you, because it was more platonic. I stood there and debated which I should get you.

And as I stood there trying to figure out which would be the best option, a new and more honest thought dawned on me: neither was truly perfect, because they didn’t express how I honestly feel about you. My heart sank as I accepted the truth: we aren’t at a stage within our relationship that I can feel comfortable giving you any kind of Valentine’s Day card. You’ve rejected me too many times and without some sort of positive reinforcement from your side, my heart tells me it’s not ready to get slammed again – especially not during the holiday season. It would just be too depressing.

All of that said, I’ve still picked you to be my Valentine. Call me a glutton for punishment, I guess. In my deepest-darkest, most hopeful of spaces within my heart, I will daydream of us happy together. But in reality, I will write you a short note on plain card stock that will be sweet, and most importantly, to the point.

There’s no trust for anything more than that.

Happy Valentine’s Day.