Valentine

by Cooper Bullard

‘Spring finds its footing.

A callow love blooms with the primroses.

The old, jaded oaks give their soft applause.

To a new,

Delightful fervor

Untitled

by Lyla Clement

Dear my one and only love,

Your face always brings me joy on the saddest of days. Hearing your voice makes me blush and smile. Your future’s so bright I can barely comprehend it. Your personality is purer than anything that I’ve seen before. Thank you for being a huge part of my life.

I Love You.

-Batman

Unrequited

by Sierra Orlick 

Love. A term used so frequently on Valentine’s Day everyone must know what it means. But truly, I don’t.

At least, not when “romantic” is attached to it.

I’m just a kid, after all. What am I meant to know about that kind of love when I’ve never experienced it?

High school is hard enough to manage. Managing my expectations for love is a thousand times harder.

I wouldn’t say I’m “in love” just yet. That would require the other person to know I exist, but alas, here we are. That’s why I wouldn’t say I’ve felt love, but I certainly have experienced feelings. The worst kind, too. 

Unrequited. 

While I’ve had tiny little crushes over the years, I can safely say this one isn’t one of them.

I’ve stolen snippets of conversation with him where I’ve gotten to see bits of his soul, wrapping paper slowly ripped away to reveal the gifts beneath. All the parts he’s kept sealed off from the world come trickling out like water from punctured holes at the base of a boat overseas. Not because he felt obligated to tell me, but because he wanted to. I hope. I hope he knows he’s enough.

Every time the moment ends I so desperately want another. I’ve never connected with anyone the way I’ve connected with him. I feel even though I don’t have the whole picture, I have enough puzzle pieces to form the edges of it. The view from there is pretty great. I hope he knows he’s great.

I steal glances at him from across the room. I always pray he’ll look back. Sometimes he does, but most times he doesn’t. Not on purpose, anyway. I could stare into his eyes forever and never get bored. They say more than he’s gotten to say to me. I hope he knows he’s attractive.

I remember a time when our hands brushed a few times. Kindling fragments scratching together, forging flames. I could feel the heat radiating off of us. I wanted to feel that heat again, too. I knew the action was accidental, but I couldn’t help but watch his face when it happened. It didn’t change. I don’t think he even noticed. Which hurts infinitely more.

That’s how I know my feelings are unrequited. If he felt for me the same way I feel for him, then he would’ve looked at me. His cheeks would’ve turned the color of the rose he’d want to give to me on Valentine’s Day. He would’ve, at the very least, acknowledged me. But none of these things happened. And I don’t think they ever will. 

You want to know what the worst part is? I’m still pining for him, higher than the tallest of trees. 

I wish things were different. I wish I could ask you if you feel the same without fear of things becoming awkward between us. We’re not even at a high level of friendship. We’re more like acquaintances, so fleeting in each other’s lives as though we’re clouds that quickly dissipate before amounting to anything more.

I just can’t help myself. I still want more. I still want you. 

You probably don’t even know that it’s you I’m talking about.