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."
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. Tierry - Chovendo na Minha Bochecha part. Jorge...
The lyrics started to weave through the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof. “Não é chuva que tá caindo do céu...” He wiped his face with the back of
Jorge’s voice soared, echoing the ache in his chest, while Tierry’s rhythm kept him grounded in the bitter reality of the barstool. Every beat felt like a heartbeat he didn't want to have. He felt a warm drop track a slow,
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.