kissing in the rain
Friends,
It’s the tiniest bit of a dreary morning in November. So Long, London is on repeat. It’s in my top five. I think it’s replaced My Tears Ricochet - so my current top all time favourites are:
Maroon This will always have a place in my heart because I will always attribute it to hot-girl-sad-summer-triangle-eyes-yelling-at-me.
Cardigan But the “cabin in candlelight” version - it’s just her and her piano. And I just think the lyrics of Cardigan are some of her most poetic and beautiful of all time. Also, I discovered this version, on that fateful one way trip to Rome, back in August of 2021. Walking on Via Guilia, realizing - this might be it.
Tim McGraw A throwback. When you think happiness/I hope you think that little black dress/Think of my head on your chest/And my old faded blue jeans = Screaming. Crying. Throwing up. All of it.
The Prophecy Fun fact: this was my Bordeaux soundtrack. I think this trip was the first time, in like, how many years it’s been - where I was like - oh. I’m actually alone. With 0 romantic prospects. And it wasn’t like I was sitting there, wishing for a man to rescue me. But I was sitting there, being like - I wonder if my prophecy is this: to be alone the rest of my life, travelling and wandering and writing about love. I was kind of solemn about it.
So Long, London To me, this song represents so much. It’s coming to terms with the finality of a chapter of your life, and arriving at that place where you don’t necessarily want to close the door, but you feel as though you have no choice, but to.
Holding tight to your quiet resentment and
My friends said it isn't right to be scared
Every day of a love affair
Every breath feels like rarest air
When you're not sure if he wants to be there
And you know what the worst part of it all is? That, despite everything, they won’t be the first to let you go. But the signs are all there. And your friends start to intervene, asking - “ok, but how much longer can you go on like this?”
Here’s the thing. I am the friend who has always marched to the beat of her own drum. We are each individually on our own journeys, and I think - after the Roman Love Pentagon - it became very clear that my love journey was probably just best observed. I don’t believe in timelines, which also helps to alleviate the “societal pressures” of traditional relationships - so I’ve become, sort of - non-attached to the outcome. To any outcome, really.
-
I went to view an apartment the other night. And to be honest, it already felt like mine. Right as I was leaving, it started to rain. In the lightest and the most beautiful of ways.
I stopped by my place to pick up an umbrella, and continued on my routine evening walk to the grocery store. I love this walk. I love watching the hustle and bustle of people returning home. Holding their kid’s hands as they cross the street. I love watching the sun as it sets. I love how the city comes a bit more alive, a bit more…real.
The rain lets up, and I turn down a side street. And who do I see, walking towards me? Face buried in his phone, sweats, a bomber, and a backwards baseball hat on. Our First Muse. I haven’t seen him since our non-date, where we both admitted to still having feelings. Where we both admitted to still being…very confused.
At that point in time, I didn’t know how long I was staying. Everything was a question mark. But I’ve made some sort of stride in the permanency of my decision making.
I grab his arm.
“Jesus Christ. Hi.” He smiles. We hug.
Ironically, we have been talking every day since that night. And ironically, I had messaged him an hour before saying “I’m kind of in the mood to get wine drunk and just make out with you. We don’t even need to talk.”
“We absolutely can make that happen.”
Small talk is funny for those who converse every day. He gives me the usual: a run down of work. He tells me he’s going on a solo trip for four days at the end of the month.
“Good. Maybe you can find a bar and infiltrate and self discover there.” I can’t help myself.
“Ya - except it won’t have the same ring to it, will it?”
We laugh. He tells me more about his work day. I pretend to care, again. He asks me how the apartment was. I show him photos.
“Wow. Is she committing?” He asks.
“She’s growing up.” I tell him. “And I realized something. It’s not like I’m…confined you know? I can still leave when I want.”
His face is hard to read in this moment. It’s…almost as if he wants to say something else, but stops himself.
“What are your plans this week?”
I give him an overview. Work, writing, a facial, a haircut. I expect him to chime in with his usual, “What an extraordinary life you live” - but instead he asks, “Thursday?”
A wine bar, we both decide on.
“You can teach me about wine and I can pretend to be interested.” I tell him.
We give each other a hug. It lingers.
“This is really all I wanted.” I feel his words at the back of my neck.
We hold on to each for a while. It’s a moment. Both of us undone, the evening rush walking around our embrace in the middle of the sidewalk. And all of the banter, all of the games. The walls. They don’t really exist in this moment. I forget about the verbal sparring, the defence mechanisms, and I think he does, too. My hair is slightly frizzy from the rain. Makeup free, but apartment solidified. In the baggiest jeans and warmest jacket I could find. Him in his grey sweats, him in a backwards Leafs baseball cap. That soft November rain.
8 years of knowing someone is a long time, isn’t it? Meeting someone at their worst, meeting me at my worst. But loving them anyway.
And, like clockwork, he kisses me. I’m thrown off, but in the best way possible. My hands naturally gravitate to the back of his neck, and I feel his arms tighten around my waist. It’s a moment. It’s a cute moment. I pull away.
“It’s just…this is just all for health purposes, you know?”
Making out is good for your health. It’s a known fact.
“Yes, Emily Mais.” He smiles. “It’s all for health purposes.”
He gives me one more kiss. I have to snap myself out of this daze.
“So…I’ll see you soon then.”
“Thursday.”
“Thursday.” I repeat.
We both go our separate ways. I can’t stop smiling.
“Bye, Emily Mais.” I hear as I walk away.
I keep walking, but I also can’t help feeling the tiniest bit insecure.
-
“Guess who’s week just ‘turned into a shit show’” I text my best friend. Like I silently predicted, Thursday would not be happening.
“No - because I don’t understand how he literally is Mr. Darcy one moment, and then goes home and talks himself into a hole. I think it was easier for him to tell himself that it was going to be casual when he thought you were leaving. But now that you’re not - there’s no other excuses for him to hide behind.”
“I know. And I think it was easier for me to tell myself it was just going to be casual, too.”
“But it never feels casual when you’re together, does it?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s not like it’s some guy from Hinge. It’s…”
“A lot deeper than that. It always has been.”
So how much sad did you think I had,
Did you think I had in me?
How much tragedy?