This morning, my professor said Valentine’s Day is only for couples but I beg to differ. 

After a morbid cemetery tour where I learned the tragic love stories of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Margaret Fuller (stories for a different day, perhaps) I took myself to the Florence Chocolate Festival. I bought a delicious waffle covered in dark chocolate and basked in the sunlight. 

At 60 degrees, there’s not much in life to feel sad about. Sure, I’m alone on this dumb holiday, but I’m self-sufficient and that counts for something. Side-stepping sappy couples with roses, I made my way through one of my favorite places: the Piazza della Repubblica. A quartet in matching fedoras played cheery tunes as I passed by. 

The beauty of this place.. it’s entrancing.. it’s enchanting. The way the sun turns the buildings gold. The way mothers chase after their children as their children chase after the birds. The way the narrow streets curve and the Vespas elegantly dance as they maneuver across the crowded cobblestone. 

Everyone came outside today. Less touristy and more couple-y. I watched them from a safe distance, on a bench where no one could interact with me. They held hands, bought gelato. I folded my hands together and, what do you know, I could hold my own hand. I could buy myself gelato. Even better, the serene silence on my park bench could be completely my own. 

After my Italian and art classes, I met up with some friends to get heart-shaped pizzas.