In a corner

Between those boring hours when he was alone and wouldn't enjoy the peace of silence, his mind dreamt. His body, bony and long would lay over the sofa or simply on the floor; his breathing barely told by a soft, periodical distortion on his shirt; the Time in his room filled with another Time. In those long hours he didn't find peace (it didn't really matter, he wasn't looking for it), but a sweet remembrance, a bunch of feelings kept together and, perhaps, one truth. It all happened when she was sitting on the border of the couch on a deep dark night. He was in front of her and was getting closer. She had drunk as much as him and was tired. They both tought of the time they had shared. He raised his finger and touched the skin under her mouth and said: "you know, the most romantic thing there is, is a kiss in the corner of the lips". As his face made the way to hers, she closed the eyes and, with a little movement of her head, offered her thin lips to that kiss that made them one for a couple of seconds. Then he would open his eyes and tremble with the rush that seemed to stir his very mind. And he knew, he had been in love.