Flowers I got for Valentine’s Day this year.

I don’t remember my first, second, or third Valentine’s Day, but I remember my seventh. On that crisp day in first grade, I was given my first bouquet—a clump of half-crushed wildflowers picked from the playground yard. 

It was from a young boy—lanky and stick thin but sweet as pie—who mumbled an embarrassed “Happy Valentine’s Day” while shoving the flowers into my hands. If I reminisce enough, I can still feel my cheeks burning and my half-hearted attempt at moving my frozen mouth to thank him. 

Those were my first Valentine’s Day flowers. 

My second time receiving Valentine’s Day flowers, I was much older—seventh grade—and had a firmer understanding of the holiday. My middle school teacher had decided to include the entire class in a day of Valentine’s arts and crafts. 

We made our own cards, paper flowers, baskets, and tiny hearts to decorate the room with. It was an enjoyable day, making all those presents with my friends. 

At the end of the lovely day, the teacher encouraged us to exchange packages of candy—which she asked us to bring—and cards into each other’s Valentine’s baskets. And to our delighted surprise, our homeroom teachers each gifted us all a single rose in the spirit of the gooey holiday. 

I remember adoring that wine-colored rose. From eagerly showing it off to my parents, to bragging about it to my brothers, and clearing out an entire vase so I could place that single flower on my bookshelf.

That was my second Valentine’s Day flower.

My third came from an unlikely source—a friend of mine whom I’d only met the semester before the end of freshmen year. She gifted me a bouquet of assorted flowers: glowing sunflowers alongside bunches of baby’s breath and lilies of the valley. 

It was by far the most exquisite bundle of posies I’d ever received. Hilariously enough, in the beginning, I had confused the present as an act of confession which led to an embarrassing moment in which I attempted to softly reject the girl only for her to blush and stutter out an explanation. 

She told me she specifically chose the flowers of the bouquet to symbolize her gratitude for our friendship. Sunflower for loyalty and admiration, baby’s breath for beauty, and lily of the valley for luck. 

I was shocked to tears. For I had never believed anyone—much less a new friend—would ever put that kind of commitment and thoughtfulness into a gift for me. I hugged her and thanked her numerous times. I cried again once I had made it home. 

That period of my life was especially dark—considering it was the end of COVID. I had never been in a romantic relationship in my life, and I didn’t get or give gifts anymore on Valentine’s Day; not like I did in first grade. 

That small gesture—platonic, but no less meaningful—made me feel more loved than any words could convince. A few of flowers made my eyes mist with the realization that someone loved me enough to care.