Whatever The Weather

Her eyes man. Chico, it’s her eyes man. I make out her eyes to be a darkened honey colour as if her maker added a pinch of chocolate colour to the mix of her eye colour. They’re protected by her long eyelashes that flutter elegantly with every blink. I can tell she’s smiling because of the creases beginning to build on the sides of her eye.

Yeah, she’s smiling alright. A smile that could send the sadness in any room scurrying away. You know what type of smile I’m talking about: the ones that have you ready to ask her to go halves on a baby with. First time I saw it, I went home to thank my Mum and Dad for bringing me into this world to experience such beauty. Shit! Through her smile, I already saw here stealing the duvet from me at night in her sleep.

I’m a sucker, I know for sure. I’m moving shakily right now, but I don’t even care. She’s right here, next to me, staring intently at me. I bet she can see through me. She can see my heart working double time, sending information to my brain that is writing all of this across the wallpapers of my mind. Decorating the chambers with everything that is her. Frankly, I don’t even care.

We’re both stuck here, at this bus stop hiding out from the stubborn rain. It’s raining so hard it’s like it has a personal vendetta against the concrete, the bonnets of cars and the erect umbrellas that dare tries to go against its mite. We’re trapped by the rain, yet trapped in this moment where no words are being said, but our bodies conversing in an awkward Tango.