When the guy I was seeing left me it was 11pm on a Thursday and he did it in the Second Cup on Graham Ave and I was dumbstruck and I cried.

I was young and I didn't know what to do so I got up and left and he followed me because that's what you're supposed to do when someone storms out of somewhere, I guess.

It was February and it was snowing and I was trying to put on my coat and my mittens and my scarf at the same time and failing because nothing made sense, least of all arm holes and wool and zippers.

Nothing makes sense when someone hurts you.

He followed me and took my hand and because I was young I thought that meant something and he said "I'm sorry, let's go back to my place and we can talk" and because I was young I thought that meant something so we did.

But it didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything at all.

He drove me home at 2am and I screamed at him in his car, I said what the hell is wrong with you why did you invite me back to your apartment when I was trying to go home

and he said

I don't know. I don't know about anything right now.

and I said some awful things that I wish I could say that I regret.

When I got home I called the man I'd been in love with all along and because it was the kind of man that he was, he stayed on the phone with me until I fell asleep.

The next day he dropped his Friday night plans and picked me up from work with flowers and when I saw him I began to cry either because I was wounded or in love or probably both

and he held me in his car as I shook in his arms.

We went out for dinner and on the way home he held my hand in between the red lights and shifting gears, and we listened to Konstantine by Something Corporate and I watched the snow and the traffic as we drove from downtown to Old St. Vital.

Later that night when we were alone and I was consumed by the smell of him I thought of the words of that song, the slow sadness of it, and though I was young and sad and fucked up I felt like maybe I’d be all right.

Which turned out to be true, but not then.