The Amber Orbit of Your Gaze

I have drifted through this concrete nebula for years, a solitary satellite orbiting the cold rhythms of city life. My heart was once an ice-moon—still and silent under layers of frost.
But then you arrived like a solar flare in my winter morning. Standing before me, wrapped in yellow that echoes the glow of distant stars, I felt gravity return to my soul. As our eyes locked, time folded; the roar of traffic faded into an interstellar hum, leaving only us floating in a pocket of shared silence.
Your hand brushed mine—a light touch that carried the weight of planetary collisions. It was not just skin meeting skin, but two wandering spirits aligning their trajectories across space-time. I could feel your warmth seeping through my jacket like sunlight piercing an atmosphere long thought dead.
In this fleeting moment between train arrivals and coffee breaths, you became my center of mass. The city is no longer a void to be survived; it is the velvet backdrop for our slow dance in zero gravity. As you smiled, I realized that home isn't a place on earth—it is simply being pulled into your orbit.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager