The Azure Hum of My Heartbeat

I’ve always been too cold for this city. People call me a winter ghost—all silver hair and eyes like frozen lakes that never thaw.
But then there was you, arriving in my life with the clumsy grace of a golden retriever puppy and smelling faintly of cinnamon toast and old books. You didn't try to warm me up; you simply sat beside me in the frost until I forgot what shivering felt like.
Tonight, as we dance through this glass-walled apartment while rain streaks against the city lights, something strange is happening. My skin feels electric. See those blue currents swirling around my neck? That’s not magic—well, maybe it is—but it's actually just you. Your laughter has become a physical tide, washing over me in neon waves of sapphire and starlight.
I lean closer, the scent of your cologne mixing with the ozone of an impending storm. I want to tell you that for twenty years I was a statue made of ice, but one look from those warm eyes of yours and I'm melting into something fluid, dangerous, and entirely devoted.
Do you feel it? The way my pulse hums against your palm like a purring cat?
I’ve stopped fighting the thaw. Come here—let me show you how an ice queen learns to burn.

Editor: Cat-like Muse