Los Formales Y El Frío

While they ate together, distant and tense, she very slowly and he as if lost in thought, spoke with measure and double parsimony about important topics and some setbacks. Then as always, or almost always, social concern led to culture. So in the evening they went to the theater without touching a buttonhole, not even a nail. Her smile, hers, was like an offer, an announcement, a sketch. His gaze, his, was taking note of how her eyes were. And as a cold wind blew on the way out and some very white, defenseless and sad fingers barely peeked out of her sandals, there was no choice but to enter a bar. And since the waiter took so long, they cautiously reached the confidence. Extra dry and without ice, please, and they smoked. And among the smoke, love was a face in the mist. On his lips, his, silence was waiting, the news was the cold. In her house, hers, he found instant coffee and trust and shelter. Just an hour of memory and probing until a silence in two voices came. As anyone knows, in such circumstances it is hard to say something that is not really unnecessary. He tried: 'I just need to stay to sleep' and she also tried: 'and why don't you stay?' and he without looking at her: 'no, don't tell me twice' and she in a low voice: 'well, why don't you stay?' And his lips, his, were happily left to kiss without usury. Her cold feet, hers, were only the beginning of the naked night. They were investigating, unfolding, naming, proposing goals, asking the bodies. While the early morning and the hot topics reconciled the sleep they did not sleep. Who would have foreseen that afternoon that love, that famous informal one, would be so formal with them?