THE VALENTINE CARDS IN THE TRUNK - Anita Waggoner

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and tonight I found myself sitting on the floor beside that old cedar trunk I swore I wouldn’t open again. Inside are the cards he gave me… my Freedom cowboy, Rowdy… my Marvin in the real world… tucked between faded ribbons and a pressed wildflower that still smells faintly of dust and sunshine.

He was never a man of big speeches, but he spoke fluent heart. Every February he’d show up with a card chosen like it was sacred business, sometimes funny, sometimes tender, always signed in that crooked handwriting that looked like it had ridden too many miles in a back pocket. He’d slip it beside my coffee cup or leave it on the truck seat, pretending it was no big deal, though I knew he’d spent half the morning picking just the right one.

Those cards hold more than paper and ink. They hold the memory of a love I’d never known before… slow, steady, imperfect, and real. They remind me of cold mornings feeding bulls, of his laugh rolling across the pasture, of how safe I felt walking beside him even when the world felt unsteady.

He’s gone now, and some days the quiet feels louder than any storm. I’ve learned that love doesn’t end when a heartbeat does, it just changes addresses. It lives in trunks and photographs, in the crease of an old Valentine, in the stories I still tell when the night gets sentimental.

I’m a little sad tonight, thinking how some things don’t last forever. But I’m grateful too. Grateful, I got to know a love that was thoughtful enough to pick a card, brave enough to open his heart, and strong enough to live on long after the roses faded.

Hold your people close this Valentine’s Day. And if you have an old trunk somewhere, maybe open it. The memories may still be warm inside.

Happy Valentines Day!