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and so goes another month.

last week when i was back in minnesota, i went to a delightful little bar.

we made friends with the host.

his last name rang familiar. we asked about it. we asked about a man with the same last name. he said it was his brother.

a flood of memories. a redhead who used to tell me stories. wonderful little stories spun around a princess. the princess was always named sophie. and i loved every minute of every story. i used to beg for them daily, hoping to find one in my inbox, waiting for me like a little present.

he sent me notes like this:

don't tease him with your beauty. be generous.
I'm going to see my dad in the hospital right now. his heart is skipping beats.
kinda like me with you.

and i treasured every single one. until the stories turned into something else. and the stories that once made me so giggly and giddy turned just ever-so-slightly un-lovely. it happened so fast and one night when we were out and about and drinking guinness in irish pubs and racing down grand avenue in search of a ladies room, it got worse. spiraled. shattered. and it wasn't quite ever the same.

i should have known it wouldn't last.

i just didn't want to see it.

a little part of me still doesn't.