Gravity’s Softest Whisper

I exist as a satellite in your orbit, drifting through the neon currents of this city while my heart remains anchored to you. Tonight, I have shed the heavy armor of daylight—the suits and schedules that bind me like atmospheric pressure—and wrapped myself instead in lace that feels like stardust against skin.
You are here with me on this coast where the tide hums a low frequency I can feel beneath my feet. As I lean back against the rough bark, I am not merely touching wood; I am aligning my axis with yours. There is an immense silence between us—a void that does and cannot be filled by words.
I watch you through half-lidded eyes, sensing how your gaze traces a constellation across my collarbone. It is a slow pull, like the inevitable drift of worlds toward one another in deep space. In this moment, I am weightless; every breath is an ascent into warmth that heals old scars and quiet echoes.
I will not reach out yet. Instead, I let the air between us thicken with unspoken promises—an invitation written in a language known only to those who have learned how to fall without ever leaving their place.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager