Good Company

So.

Valentine's Day.

[insert the angry rantings of a single senior girl]

But for real, I don't really get Valentine's Day. We should express our love everyday, without prompting. It's more special and meaningful that way, anyway.

I don't like Singles Awareness Day. People don't need to flaunt their singleness. They don't need to be SAD that they aren't mackin in the halls. I know I'm one to talk, seeing as I bemoan my lack of a man on a daily basis, but hey, I've got issues. I just, again, don't like the idea of devoting a day to specifically feel sorry for yourself.

The real meaning of Valentine's Day was made apparent to me yesterday after school in the band room, as I sat crumpled on the ground, my leg bleeding profusely from where Bradan had scratched me as I jumped into his arms, when him and Chris ran in with armfuls of paper towels and Jacob stood at the ready with a ghetto bandage made out of tape and the paper towels were tossed in my lap and on my head and I sat there surrounded by six of my guyfriends wondering what is life. It was so beautiful and surprising to see as these boys I would never have been friends with in Texas, who weird me out and make me want to back away slowly sometimes, in such a new and perfect light. They cared about me, and I cared about them. Maybe it was from all the excessive blood loss, but I felt transcendent, like I was looking down on this sad, strange little group and seeing only the collective and uncomplicated love they shared.

Every day should be Valentine's Day.