The Shape of Love

I only came inside to get out of the rain. I swear. There’s nothing else that would tempt me to come in here. Not the coffee, nor the atmosphere, nor the music (which is, admittedly, jazzy and nice enough). Nevertheless, I have ended up sitting on a bar chair in front of the window, overlooking the harbour. I take a sip from my overpriced coffee, which came in a plain white mug without the overly famous logo that everyone knows, without a double-nicaragua-espresso shot, without any pumpkin spice. On the street in front of me I see people packed in raincoats, defiantly fighting against the loss of their umbrellas (most of them having given up this endeavour). I look around. To my right, a group of English speaking folks on some cosy armchairs. I feel a slight chill from the sudden breeze that resulted from the door being opened and I turn my head. Outside, the street lamps, which hang on wires that are stretched over the roads shake alarmingly. The flags that tower over some of the buildings dance wildly in the wind.

Beware, people of Midgard, Thor has come.

The clocks strike twelve.

Universities close, the government has advised people to leave work early. Little school children are fetched by their worried parents. Do not be outside unless you have a good reason.

As for me I certainly do not. The short walk from my new home to the coffee shop has been enough for today. My trousers are still wet.

So, really, I only came inside to get out of the rain. And you might well have done the same. The door closes behind you and the breeze dies. You stand there for a second, squint, and remove your hood. Your hair is a mess. But something about your face leaves me looking a little longer than one ought to. Don’t I know you? You catch my eye and I quickly avert my eyes, back to the screen, unable to hide a slight smile. In the corner of my eye I can see you going to the counter, placing your order. I search for a name, an event, a possible encounter. A lecture at university? A concert? Strolling through the bathroom section in Ikea? I subtly shake my head. Imagination. 

Outside, the storm has grown stronger. A cyclist, desperately trying to make it safely through the gusts of wind. A car driving through a puddle, ruining the dress of a woman, Carry Bradshaw style. A sudden wind blow sends restaurant advertisement signs flying through the air. People hold on to railings. One thing was sure: There was no going out in the next hour, maybe longer. Thor was raging over the city, punishing the ones who did not heed the weather warnings. Trapped. I feel a certain relief that I brought two books, a laptop cable and a bottle of water. I could survive in here for quite some time.

The screeching sound of a chair being moved to my left . Your messy hair bent over a cup of tea. You look as if you had taken a bath and had forgotten to dry yourself afterwards. Or forgotten to take your clothes off, for that matter. Your shoes certainly have seen their last day. You shiver, warm your hands on your beverage, stirring from time to time.

A sudden thought comes to my mind.

Who needs the sun… and why would anyone wish for summer? I don’t want to leave this coffee shop. I don’t want the rain to stop. I could sit in here forever, with you only two chairs away, drinking your tea, whilst outside the world is going through a rehearsal of ragnarökr. 

I wouldn’t mind.

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This text was inspired by Tor, the storm that hit Bergen today, and The Shape of Love, a great song by Passenger (Seriously, Check it Out!).

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