Valentine’s Day of Radio Silence – A Love Letter to Letting Go

By Alexis Brunstedt

Not every Valentine’s Day is red roses and handwritten cards. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s the ache of a love that no longer has a place to land. This poem was born from that space—where love still lingers, but presence has vanished.

It captures a single day suspended in longing, ritual, and reflection. A day where healing begins not by rekindling—but by releasing. For those who’ve loved deeply, lost quietly, or waited in the stillness for clarity—this piece is for you.

Valentine’s Day of Radio Silence

by Alexis Brunstedt

That Valentine’s, I couldn’t talk to you—

Still, I woke with the sun,

knowing you’d slip through the day

without my voice.

I flowed through a sunrise salutation,

where a woman’s song

wove grandmothers into our breath—

roots, echoes, and lineage.

Last night, under the full moon,

I shared laughter and longing

with women blooming like wildflowers.

You don’t know

how witchy I’ve become.

Today—

as you blow out candles

or hold another’s hand—

May I honor you with silence.

May I cradle you in thought.

May her heart never sense

the shadow of mine.

You’ll come to Arizona.

You’ll come to be healed—

it’s the only thing I know how to do

since this drought of loneliness

cracked me open.

My therapist says—

work on the pattern, the bloodline pull:

How old flames

rekindle and repeat.

My mother’s college sweetheart—

my stepfather now—

as if she could sever a generational spell.

But spells are older than belief.

Centuries have conspired our path—

A gypsy once told me:

You’ll find him

when you no longer need him.

Yet no one knows—

I once wished for you by moonlight.

How could we not collide?

The moon—faithful witness—

full, then new.

And today—

a Valentine’s Day of radio silence,

a day of absence,

where time stretches—

from longing...

to letting go.

When you arrive,

I’ll ask you to meet me on the mat—

to breathe, to feel.

I’ll offer you

the mirror of a psychic’s gaze,

the healing of hands—

palms warm with Reiki,

to soften your guarded heart.

But—

What will we be?

Will we know the shape we are meant to take?

No—

Not today.

Today, you live without me.

Today, absence becomes a gift.

Today, I learn love—

not in its wanting,

but in its release—

A generous love,

finding its way home.

Some stories are still unfolding. Others are meant to be written in silence, in movement, in letting go. Valentine’s Day of Radio Silence is an offering from that liminal space—between heartbreak and healing, between memory and becoming.

Thank you for reading,

Alexis Brunstedt