My best (mostly bittersweet) Valentine's Day was Feb. 14, 2012. The weekend before Valentine's Day, I broke up with my boyfriend of one year. I was in low spirits the whole week and dreaded Valentine's Day. I frequently caught myself feeling bitter passing by Valentine's Day posters in the high school hallways, and feeling ashamed for being one of the many bitter people on the special day dedicated to love.
As my "holiday cheer" grew ever drearier, my friend, who I had a crush on since freshman year, sought me out. He told me he wanted to make this Valentine's Day a little bit better for me, and asked me out to dinner at his place.
When I arrived at his house, the lights were dim. Of course I found this very cliché, and out of embarrassment, laughed quietly. He opened the door, dressed very nicely in a black button down and white tie. He ushered me in to the dining room, where a sweet table was laden with pasta and sparkling wine was waiting. And, as another cliché touch, there was a single rose in a plain vase in the middle.
On either side of the rose, there was a small, white candle. I was thoroughly nervous the entire night, but pleased. At the end of the night, as I was leaving, he turned to me and said that he knew it was soon, and he wasn't asking for any sort of commitment, but that he liked me - a lot. And he hoped, that when I was up to it, I'd give him my time. Now we have been dating for six months. That, so far, has been my best Valentine's