Valentine's Day. Remembered.

Some time in late-1990s. Somewhere in New York. February 14.

I waited.

First came the bouquet of pink roses. Mom. Never missing an occasion, never hesitant to show her affection, she's always good like that. Then a medley of wildflowers. The ones my roommate and I sent to each other. In case we did not receive any. Followed by a dozen of white roses. Peace offering from an old boyfriend. Remembrance? Where's the rosemary, I'd like to ask. He's somewhere in the depths of Facebook.

I waited.

A bear with a bow-tie and box of chocolates. From "it's-never-going-to-happen-let's-stay-as-friends" guy. Good choice. Still very good friends.

I waited.

An email with an attachment. Very excited- maybe there's some surprise embedded in there, maybe an "I'm right around the corner, look out your window" kind? Maybe, an "I skipped school and drove all night just to see you" kind. I didn't (and still don't) think it was too much to ask.

So, I opened the email with the attachment. A clip art of roses.

Let me bring this in perspective: Year circa late-1990s, my old IBM Thinkpad, black & white monitor. I'm surrounded by a mini-garden in my bedroom, and staring at a black & white (funeral?) image of roses. One line of sentiments: "Happy Valentine's." That's it.

The end. To him. To long-distance relationships.