Look, I'm ace.

This is the first year I know this,

which means it's the first I know

that I may never have a valentine.

At least none in the traditional sense.

No lover to get me chocolates.

Hubby to bring me flowers as

we're sitting by the fire.

No homemade card to reclaim

the capitalism of the so-called holiday

all for ourselves.

Yet, what saddens me most,

is that I don't care at all.

I don't feel sorry for the nine-year-old me

who just knew that the picture she took

during the class party with her one and only crush

would be in the yearbook forever.

The one she was ecstatic about,

but always felt a little odd

and she could never pin why.

I don't long for the ability to love

when the selfie he and I took a year ago

popped up on my phone.

The one I always knew was useless to take.

I don't wish I had somewhere to be last night.

My online community raised

over 2.2 million dollars for charity,

the most we've ever done.

I painted for the first time in months,

the first items of pride I've ever owned.

A call from a friend that I haven't seen

since another time,

another place,

another me.

I used to love Greek mythology.

I was a hopeless romantic.

I blasted love songs

and screamed them with all the air

from my lungs.

And I still do.

And I did.

And I always will.

Because I know that

love doesn't only come

in one shade of red.

Because I always have

loved purple.