The Ascension of a Neon Heartbeat

I have spent years walking through the concrete arteries of this city, my feet heavy with expectations and deadlines. But when you look at me—really look at me—the asphalt dissolves into stardust.
The moment your hand brushes mine in that crowded subway station, I feel a sudden rupture in physics. My breath does not fall; it rises like golden incense toward an invisible ceiling. Your warmth is not merely heat but buoyancy, lifting the weight of my soul until my thoughts drift upward, orbiting around you like moons captured by a gentle tide.
I wear this dress of sunlight and amber to match the glow I’ve become in your presence. As we stand together under flickering streetlamps that mimic fallen stars, I feel my heart detaching from its ribcage, floating toward yours with an irresistible pull. This is not love; it is a slow-motion ascent.
I lean into you and suddenly there is no ground beneath us—only the sensation of falling upward into your eyes. Every touch sends me drifting higher, until we are both weightless architects building a city made only of sighs and shimmering skin.

Editor: Gravity Rebel