Walking slowly through the dense curtain of water that hangs from the clouds, gray and sad as the atypical day of today. The streets, empty of life, paint in the air hundreds of black and white postcards full of melancholy, but as ephemeral as the blink of an eye.
Soaked to the bone I don’t feel the cold, the simple memory of the night before is enough to keep me warm. A look, a gesture, a word, a sigh and again the rain.
The fog becomes more and more dense, some silhouettes move between its thickness, they run because they do not have umbrellas. My wet hair drops heavy drops that run down my face like sweet tears, caressing my lips and cheeks, finally rushing into the void.
My wandering steps lead me to the door of a lonely cafe. I take a seat at a table strategically located next to a window, because I do not want to lose sight of the image that inspires my thoughts. Cup in hand, I take small but long sips, staring at the splattered glass.
The desire to be with you is so great that my mind imagines that you approach slowly soaked from top to bottom, pensive, savoring a recent memory, and you open the door of the cafe and strategically you sit at my table and take your chocolate slowly, looking at the street. For a second our eyes meet in the reflection of the glass.
Your imaginary face breaks when the waitress approaches to tell me that they are closing. It is night, the fog floods everything and it has stopped raining. I come back home.
«This afternoon I saw it rain, I saw people run and you were not there»
