Of months and Japanese

I met you one August morning, in the hardest year of my life to date. I cannot by any means remember how you were dressed, or what your hair looked like then. I do not even recall us being formally introduced. I guess I care not to notice, because it didn't seem like I needed to.

All I knew then was that you were the uptight fellow across me, the annoyingly quiet guy who paid no deal to the necessity of having friends... not until I dared you to be one (to me).

I remembered how you let your Japanese do the talking for you. Your Ohayou's became an instant hit on my chat list. I secretly wanted to hear that from you every morning (well now you know it). Force of habit, I suppose. You never even missed a day to chat. You were that consistent, and you love hearing my stories, considering the fact that you despised wanting friends.

Then, you played "throwing-crumpled-paper" with me. You even started to share your skills by handing me sketches of my favorite cartoon character out of scratch. And you enjoyed how my jaw dropped in awe with the portrait of Gaara, you show-off.

In no time, you started sharing your stories, and you were slowly pulling off your mask to me. You adapted to my world, you became alive. You began to treat me a little different than everyone else. I remembered being your only confidante. It seemed like you didn't want anything to do with anybody, except me, and I enjoyed the exclusivity.

Then we fought one August morning, from which your love started to blossom. The space apart became your inner foe, that led you to realize that I was something, or someone. And you were now ready to accept love, and be vulnerable.

So you professed your love to me, one October evening. And you used your good old Japanese trick to do the talking for you, yet again. I recalled hearing "Aishiteru's" from you over and over again, because I feign deafness then (yes, I was just playing). Yes I provoked you to speak your piece, because you were to scared to tell it. So what if I tricked you into telling me how you feel? It was after all, the best part of our soon-to-begin relationship.

I remembered telling you I loved someone else then, and it broke my heart as much as it did yours. You even sent me a poem, which led me to appreciate you even more. I cried then, and felt your words pinching my heart. I was caught off guard, I abruptly succumbed to your love.


I first fell in love with you one December evening, when the world felt a little unwelcoming, and you embraced my being in all its complexities.You found the necessity of owning a cellphone for me, just so you can call and ask me how I've been; so you can tell me you loved me time and again.

I gave you the "yes" vote one January evening, in a very uncommon time and setting. I never saw how you reacted to it, but I remembered hearing the jerk in your voice, a happy jerk that is.

After three more Januarys, I fell in love with you more than I could even remember to count; and I blame your Japanese for it.