The walls were hidden behind the darkness, preventing us from seeing the limits of the room, enveloping us in an atmosphere of gloom and silence, as if that sofa on which we were sitting together, very close together, was the only colonized point in the universe, as if that light focal point emitting from the screen was the only star in a galaxy that belonged to us, the only one in which love was above selfishness.
The sensation of perceiving the warmth of your body by my side, of noticing the imperceptible breeze that caresses my arm with each of your sighs, of deciphering the thoughts that I read in your sideways glance, of not knowing what surprise will await me at the end the movie.
You go through each of the sequences, you savor each frame; chest notes how each musical note resonates and then spreads to your fingertips; your heartbeat redoubled by the increase in tension and I can feel it just by touching your hand; I imagine the tears in your eyes because of the gasping way you breathe, while enraptured we contemplate the fleeting passage of the credits.
And that Saturday custom became a ritual in which I chose the restaurant and you chose the movie and the rest was pure improvisation.
