My husband and I agreed long ago not to "do" Valentine's Day because it's a silly Hallmark holiday.
We cook dinner together at least five nights a week, we pick up little gifts for each other whenever we happen to spot something the other would like, and we still sometimes stay up four hours later than we should because the conversation is just that interesting. He still loves my body even though it's ten years older than it was when he first saw me, and I think the silver hairs he's acquired over that decade just make him hotter in a sophisticated, James Bond kind of way. He knows my favorite color, my favorite authors, my favorite food, even my favorite style of clothing; I know his favorite movies, his favorite type of cookie, his favorite tie, his favorite games. He knows flowers remind me of funerals and I know he hates poetry or gooey sentimentality.
So I don't need any reminders to tell me he's thinking of me on February 14; I only need to think about all the ways he thinks of me 365 days a year and I'm happy.
I might concede to tradition and bake him some peanut-butter cookies on the 14th, though; after all, they are his favorite. :)