I bet the last time you used snail mail, you thought the envelope glue was poisonous. One, because it tastes that way. Two, because you were probably seven.

No judgment; I’m not any better. I don’t know how much postage costs nowadays, the street addresses of any of my friends or where to find a mailbox on campus.

The only thing more annoying than sending snail mail is receiving it. Every time I check my own mailbox, I feel like a forty-year-old bachelorette looking for love on a singles cruise. I don’t know why I get my hopes up, because all that’s ever there is trash.

Needless to say, I was slightly shocked that I had to bite my lip to fight off tears when I started reading National Public Radio’s “Snail Mail Struggles”—a whole series devoted to stories with headlines like, “Imagine No Mail On Saturdays” and “Post Office Cuts Cause Economic, Emotional Blow.”

Who am I? I asked myself. Oh yeah, I am a 21st century gal who texts on her bike, reads her news online and can spew out her e-mail address faster than her street address. I don’t care about stamps, letters or post offices, because I don’t need to; they’re all obsolete.

That was reason enough for me to stop reading “Snail Mail Struggles,” but it didn’t take my mind off what truly bothered me about it: I have completely given up on an art I once adored.

I used to write letters like a fiend. When my best friend moved away in second grade, we vowed to be pen pals so we could keep each other up-to-date on playground drama and the fascinating lives of our Furbies. I’d write to absolutely anyone whose name I recognized in my mom’s address book; I might have been a little too ambitious with that pen.

There used to be no greater thrill than having a piece of mail addressed to me—just me—in my family’s stack of mail. Granted, every one of them was from my grandma, but they always had one stick of bubble gum inside, and that guaranteed a pretty wide smile.

Images of all the birthday cards, letters, postcards, care packages and enveloped mixed-CD’s I’ve racked up over the years flooded my mind when I read about post office cutbacks, retriggering my fondness for handwritten things in a classic case of “don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.”

But that’s the best part. As long as we’ve got postage and something to say, snail mail’s not gone—yet.

So here’s your chance: it’s      almost Valentine’s Day.

Don’t roll your eyes. I get it, nine out of 10 people think it’s a bogus holiday, and even some lovebirds brush it off, claiming every day ought to be Valentine’s Day.

Fortunately, every day is not Feb. 14 — but next Monday is.

As far as what you send in the mail, you’ve got some options. Short on cash? You can easily slop together some sentimental valentines with photos and construction paper. Not the creative type? Valentines costing $0.99 can be found just about anywhere. Or, if you’re a ball of mush, just get a pen and paper and let your love speak for itself.

If you make one valentine, send it to your mom. If you make multiples, send some to your friends at home and your grandparents. If you’ve got a boyfriend, a girlfriend, or something along those lines, you probably don’t need my advice.

I hope I’ve got you sold, but if not, give me one more chance.

Your parents, grandparents, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends and whoever else you might love won’t be anticipating a handwritten note from you this Valentine’s Day. It’s not that you’re not amazing; they just might have you pegged as the e-card or 1-800-Flowers type. So it doesn’t matter if your valentine is a work of art or a gluey token of shame, because the fact that it showed up in their mailbox says more than enough.