Love is a tangible thing when you see it in a crowd in a darkened room.
Arms encompass fragile bodies, across shoulders, lips to crook of neck as they move to whisper.
A band plays as lights illuminate the sides of their faces. It's all so absent minded as they stare off at the distance, lips slightly curved with the hint of teeth as the room swallows pure comfortable intimacy.
Their laughter is silent, poised close together like a still frame from an old  french movie.  A picture perfect mime of picture perfect oh so tangible love.
I am quiet at the back of the room and it feels like the world is ending.