It was 10 p.m. on February 13. I was shivering — not because the night air brushed against my skin, but because of the cold settling deep within my chest.

The chill came from a heart anxious about tomorrow. Heart’s Day was only hours away, and I was left with nothing but a few coins in my pocket and a love far greater than what money could buy.

I wandered through the City of Angels, watching people leave shops with flowers wrapped in cellophane, teddy bears clutched tightly, chocolates sealed with ribbons, and gifts prepared to impress. 

With every passing couple, my eyes grew heavier. It wasn’t envy for myself that stung — it was the quiet ache of wanting to give those same things to someone who waits for me, someone who dreams of love that looks like the couple reels scrolling endlessly on TikTok.

I knew it was a special day, and the thought kept echoing in my mind — that maybe I was the problem. How could I have failed to prepare for something meant to celebrate love? 

Yet life has a way of sending unexpected trials, even in moments that are supposed to feel like nothing but joy.

This was our first celebration together. We had already built trust and values that kept us deeply connected, yet this day made me feel as though I couldn’t afford you. 

While others stood in line, customizing bouquets according to their partner’s favorite flowers, I stood there with nothing but my words. Every letter I wrote felt priceless — so heavy with meaning that even my own thoughts became difficult to untangle.

Why… just why?

How can a single date on the calendar undo me like this — breaking me into fragments, reducing everything I thought I had built into something that suddenly feels like nothing?

How I sometimes wish I were a flower — wrapped in plastic, tied with ribbon, labeled with a price — so I would finally know what I am worth.

But my love was never meant to be sealed and suffocated beneath layers of plastic.

I long to be loved beyond the plastic that tries to define my worth — beyond ribbons, beyond price tags, beyond the presence of gifts. May my love reach further than what can be wrapped and displayed.

So please, don’t wrap me in plastic.

Maybe I will not arrive with roses wrapped in cellophane or chocolates sealed with satin bows. Maybe there will be no grand display, no curated proof that I loved loudly enough.

But I will arrive with something that cannot be scanned at a counter.

I will arrive with loyalty. With faith. With hands that choose you even on ordinary days. With a love that does not expire when the flowers wilt or when the ribbon loosens.

Because if love must be wrapped to be believed, then perhaps we have mistaken packaging for presence.

And I would rather give you something unwrapped — raw, imperfect, and real — than something beautiful that fades by morning.

This Valentine’s, I may not be able to afford the bouquet.

But I will never fail to afford the choice to love you.