How's Karl, by the way?

"How's Karl, by the way?" my manager asked over lunch earlier this week. "I haven't heard news about him for a while."

My heart skipped a beat. The name sounded so familiar yet so distant, seemingly beyond reach despite the recency of the events that took place. But the memories remain so much real, and as my eyes fell on the skyscrapers at the distance, bits from the previous weeks flooded back to my consciousness.

It started with a Facebook post. He published a short, self-penned poem talking about doors that have already been closed, and asked why a certain person has to open them again. I was not angry but questions burned inside my head. I knew this person. Perhaps, it's my affinity and considerable proficiency for anything literary, but it was no effort unlocking the secrets presented by the short poem he wrote. I opened up to him about it in one of our bus rides home.

Calm tempered the drama that could have otherwise ensued. Karl confessed that he started looking for attention from Gelo, the guy he dated alongside myself until I requested for an exclusive partnership. Our partnership was never official, though—I wanted to be formally introduced to his family the way he was to mine, especially because his mother was a bit disapproving of our budding relationship. It did not bother me because what I had with him felt so secure that I did not see the need to ascribe labels on it.

But one confession led to another. It turned out that he was actually piggybacking on my idea of making us official. He liked that my mind worked this way, because he was actually not ready to commit.

I could not understand, at least back then. And I was honest to him about it. I could not process what that meant to me, to him and to us, and Karl was gracious enough not to force me to understand. We parted ways with no tension to fear.

Weeks passed and I felt significant changes in my behavior. Karl's messages no longer excited me. We would still talk, but talking to him became a chore. Making love felt too plain. All in all, it felt that I had to constantly keep up with the eccentricities of a 19-year-old while carefully trudging the dark spots of his conflicted persona.

People have warned me how Karl could be emotionally needy, but I chose to set those apprehensions aside. They were not mine to begin with, and I would truthfully fall short in giving Karl the time, effort and attention that he deserved. I would go on business trips and lead strategic projects at work, and I had to juggle these with the demands of my overflowing coursework this semester. It did not help that I was sick for almost three weeks (albeit not gravely), and that I have an emotionally deprived mother, ingrate sister and apathetic father waiting for me every night when I go home.

Yet, when I did have free time, I would spend it in the gym, cruising for guys to fool around with after each workout instead of spending my free time with Karl.

That was when I finally admitted to myself that my (pseudo) relationship with Karl was not something I needed. After several tears were shed and bundles of guilt confronted, we officially parted ways last Monday.

* * *

"Ryan?"

I snapped back to my senses. My manager was waiting for a response. She was surveying me with questioning eyes, sparkling with a confused mix of concern, wonder, and anticipation.

"Oh, uh," I began. "I—we were—we were together just yesterday. He's okay," I finished before diving once more into what was left of my lunch.