168 Days of K.

You were that guy with the hard exterior, which is why I was bewildered at how benevolent you were when we first spoke on that crisp, September morning. I was still half-asleep and you were a refreshing burst of “morning-person energy”. Perhaps it was the fact that you lived where my ex lived and worked where he once worked, that immediately made me feel familiar with you; but speaking with you came so effortlessly.

I played it cool and nonchalant when we exchanged numbers that October afternoon. Somewhere between our flirting and back and forth texting, I became enticed. Busing to work on Sunday mornings and taking our lunch breaks together became routine. I liked being around you for we never could run out of things to joke about.

Maybe it was the pressure from third parties that made that one November evening awkward for the both of us. Perhaps it was the tequila-fueled events or my pride that simply wouldn’t allow me to admit to you the truth; but I was convinced that I had blown my chance.

On the contrary, that evening brought feelings to the surface and as we spoke on the phone all those nights following, I was pleasantly surprised at your gentleness and the softness of your tone as we got to know each other outside of a work context. As we talked, I learned about your childhood and your ambitions for the future. It was your charm, your wit and semblance that had intrigued me; but it was your drive, your passion and your openness that had made me stay. You just had a way of making me feel at ease that made me desire to be around you.

It was around the midnight hour, that you and I recapped that night’s events and guffawed at how funny things worked out sometimes. Neither of us expected this, yet we couldn't deny that the other was something special. We sat around a café table and sipped on tea as we compiled a list of things we planned to do together. You wanted to meet my parents and told me of the friends you wanted to introduce me to. We chatted all night until I had to go home, and although you were sleepy, you called to continue our intimate discussion. We joked that an early bird like you and a night owl like me could never sync but we swore that we’d try.

Do you remember that late December night in your bed? I tried my best not to stir you awake. When you realized I was still conscious, you laid there with me. We laid there—the only physical contact were our hands brushing—as I let my walls come down and allowed you to see the vulnerability underneath the nonchalant façade I had seemingly perfected. We exchanged more stories of our past and I confided in you my insecurities that stemmed from jaded experiences. You listened. You wiped my tears and you comforted. Most importantly, you accepted. I had never felt more close to you than as I did that night.

I accredit that late night to the diminishment of my cautious and wary mentality. Up until that point I was merely dipping my feet in the water. I had found myself going deeper and deeper as the days progressed but I was jaded so I was always careful. After that very late night, I decided not to fight the feelings anymore. When we awoke the next day, I had found myself submerged… deep… in the waves of you.

It was at dawn in the middle of January, when I finally accepted that this wouldn’t go any further. Just like that, my walls came back up. I once again perfected that nonchalant façade. “Me? I’m great. I’m onto the next.”

The following month was a blur. I became defensive when we talked. I was desperate to prove that I was indifferent and unaffected. All the while plotting in my head how I could possibly show you how great we had it. Even after my whisky-induced confession, I rejected your proposal to talk things over. Instead, I digressed and acted like it never happened. Even after what I had seen, I continued to fight pointlessly for someone who had already given up on me. After my rebellion that last night in February, I finally had an epiphany.

When I awoke that morning on the first of March, I knew I had to distance myself from you. I was proud that I was able to. Unfortunately, as a result of that distance, I feel that you are now that guy with the hard exterior I had once thought you to be, and this time I can no longer penetrate through.

I often joke with my friends that it was the physical aspect that I miss most. But it isn’t. I miss the conversations we had. We used to chuckle at the fact that even your friends noticed that you talked differently when you were around me. You were cheesy. You swore less. You were more affable. I wish we could just go back to those days when we’re sitting around your kitchen table, sipping on homemade green tea lattes and laughing about what we’d name our kids. I remember your tired eyes and how they lit up when you looked at me. I miss how comfortable I was around you and how I could let my guard down.

We talk on the phone these days because we’re used to routine. Alas, it’s not the same. You seem cold. You feel distant. I miss that tenderness of your voice when you speak. I miss your quirkiness and your gentleness. I yearn for that emotional intimacy. But those days are gone. When we converse now, it’s not the same. It's not supposed to be. I’ll learn to get used to it. I have to. I guess it was impossible for a night owl like me to expect to go through days perfectly in sync with an early bird like you.

Hey, at least we tried.