He wiped his face with the back of his hand, a sad smile touching his lips as the chorus peaked. "Yeah," he whispered, "but the worst of it is only falling on my cheek."
A stranger at the end of the bar nodded toward him, a silent gesture of solidarity among the heartbroken. "Heavy rain tonight, huh?" the stranger asked. Tierry - Chovendo na Minha Bochecha part. Jorge...
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. He felt a warm drop track a slow, salty path from his eye down to his jawline. It wasn't the storm outside that was soaking him; it was the memory of her silhouette in the doorway three nights ago, the sound of a suitcase zipping shut, and the quiet click of a lock that felt like a gunshot. He wiped his face with the back of
He sat alone, staring at his phone. The screen was dark, but he could still see the ghost of the last message he’d sent: “Are you really not coming?” No reply. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes
The lyrics started to weave through the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof. “Não é chuva que tá caindo do céu...”