Arco da Vella By: a hurricane between the rain No comments

At some point you may be averse to rain once you get your splendour shirt ruined. Your hair may get drenched, you may blame yourself for not having an umbrella with you, but in the end, this question may pass in your head: “Why it has to rain?”

It has been a thousand steps ahead from the night where you drew to a halt and unzipped your jacket. Full moons have been out twice since you told me a pretty-crafted lie, and rainy days have come through plenty times since I didn’t think any further when you said that you weren’t cold. I reached for your jacket and put it on. You, setting your back before me, just continued the jaunt. I wonder if it delivered you such a serenity, and I really hope so, because having my arms clung around your waist with my chin on your shoulder did.

Fool me, for believing you that night. And lucky you, for successfully manipulating what you felt. I had my own cardigan on covered up again by your jacket and still could feel the malignant breeze poked my bones.
But how could you survive with only a single t-shirt on?
How could your brain cope with your heart when you said you weren’t cold, but in fact, you were?

So there it goes again; one of many reasons why I'm smitten with the rain.

That an evening where sunshine faded and replaced by clouds all above the roads. People were still focused on which way they should take, finding topics to bring up, or for a lone rider, they might be still caught up in their deep thoughts, until a water droplet fell down. Tapped me on the showed arm under a rolled-up long-sleeved shirt. You knew that rain was coming, so you added some more speed. I kept feeling the second droplet fell, the third, the fourth, and then the patchy drizzle officially started.

I thought you were going to pull your motorcycle into the McDonald’s parking lot and had some McFloats or ice creams or burgers like we used to when we sheltered, but then you didn’t have an eye for it. I was kinda sure it wouldn’t get heavy in any minutes, but was totally mistaken. You were alert that my parents always strictly tell me not to mess with the rain since I can catch a flu much easier if I’m soaked—and I was glad that you kept that in your mind—so you asked me where to shelter, I said up to you, then you stopped at the city shuttle stop.

There, we got some space to rest. You withdrew one of those rainy day starter pack: earphones. Connected it to your phone, opened up your Soundcloud. As if we were an inseparable match made in heaven, a pod was plugged into my ear, and the other one was on you.

Under the grey roof, we listened to the same music—your taste, but slowly became my taste too. Some of them caused my eardrum to protest, but when it suited me, I didn’t want you to change the song and would highly ask you for the title.

Who would think that a reggae song could be one of my favourite rainy songs today?

Drown into the lyrics, I watched you take your head and shoulders into a little dancing show, your arms were fake-beating the drums as if you did actually have the sticks on your hands. I didn’t know the lyrics very well, but you made me put attention to it by singing along. Your eyes on me, but weren’t exactly on me since you managed to look at the roads occasionally, and I sat there idiotically staring at you, thinking of how cute you were when you’re doing things like that, with your half-wet hair lied perfectly above your tapering, beautiful eyelashes. There were some lines that were very delightful to hear, and I couldn’t prevent the corners of my mouth from turning up behind the surgical mask when you sang it to me with that soothing gaze.

You gave me that sense of guarded and reassuring feeling of having someone who’s always on your side, protecting you, making you feel wanted, and freeing your mind from problems and troubles.

There, at that damp evening, something finally struck and hauled me to a light-bulb moment,
that I fancy you in every way, every inch.
You are the most artistic person alive I’ve ever had in my life.
Hair to heels, head to toe, everything seems so beyond compare when it’s you. I wasn’t even aware since when I became so fanatical about your natural scent, hair too.
All I knew was that, whatever you do, wherever you are, whatever occasion you are on, you’re still the one with the most wonderful and breathtaking features on every angle. The one who ever melt, uplifted and hammered down my heart at the same time.

But let’s just forget the hammered down part.

Just from now on, I will remember that eleventh day of August if anything happens. Even if it is awful. Even if the possibility of driving me miserable exists. Because you’re an egocentric moron if you’re still saying your farewell to someone who makes you feel like a harbour to their voyages just because you’re going through a bit of a rough patch.

So, for the second time, you gave me your jacket and lied.

You were cold.

Stay in my harbour.

—b, 14/08/16