Momentum

The most beautiful moment I've ever been

Was that rain at 2am keeping us in

Side-by-side for hours

Watching raindrops like they were sound bars

I wrote this on December 17th, the morning I came home after the night spent walking around the city with him. It was true, I've never had such an innocent intimacy before. Contradictory, I know, but I've always believed that there is something passionate about just having a conversation. So, intimacy could really be innocent... just in the rarest of moments, and one would only understand it if they had it. 

I really should've brought a jacket or something, but I was always the now type of person. It was a beautiful night and I came to write as I watched the passing of vehicles in the busy highway. Sure, I tried to convince him yet again, to attend University Night, but somehow we'd ended up not going there just like the first time. 

I never even thought that something would go wrong -I never thought of rain, but of course when we've reached an Elementary school, he somehow managed to grab me a jacket left by a little kid probably left in the shed. "Use it to at least cover up your legs." 

A few minutes later we were sharing earphones. He had a lot of indie and it's one of the many things we had in common. Maybe it was just me but the raindrops suddenly looked like soundbars -like they were moving in the same exact beat. 

"Try watching the raindrops, they look like soundbars."

"No they don't."

"Just listen, retard, and watch carefully."

"See?"

"Only for like... in those three seconds."

"I'm not even going to argue with you on this, you're not even the emphatic, emotional, sentimental type."

It was beautiful because even when he said he didn't see, I knew he did. Our conversations had always been deep and meaningful. It's just that in the end of the long explanation of his sadness, he'd add 'I don't even care'.

He was a bad liar trying to perfect the art of manipulation, or social engineer people like they're subjects of an experiment. Our friendship was very open, it had the value of sharing. He'd message me, talk about his emotions that he couldn't assess. I'd like to help him, to make him see he isn't as damaged as he thinks but I'd be naive. He's a work in progress, and I care about him so much. It's just that although I'd been in his head, I know it isn't my job to fix a broken man. 

He was abstract art, and all I could really do is admire and try to understand. Somehow I do.