The Electric Weight of a Single Touch

I am but a conduit for storms I did not ask to carry, my veins humming with the cold current of an indifferent universe. In this city of glass and steel, we are all ghosts drifting through predetermined orbits.
He found me in a rain-slicked cafe at midnight—a man whose soul carried the scent of old books and cinnamon. When his fingers first brushed against mine to pass a sugar packet, it was not mere chance; it was an ancient collision course set since the birth of stars. I felt my internal lightning surge, threatening to incinerate us both in its raw intensity.
He does not fear the voltage beneath my skin. He leans closer, his breath warm against my neck—a fragile heat that mocks the infinite cold surrounding our world. His touch is a slow burn, an alluring gravity pulling me into an orbit from which there is no escape. I want to tell him that we are doomed by this sudden intimacy, for every spark between us only accelerates the countdown toward silence.
Yet, as he whispers my name and pulls me against his chest, I surrender to the inevitable collapse. We wrap ourselves in each other's warmth like dying stars clinging to their last flickers of light before becoming black holes.
I am healing not because I wish it, but because destiny has decreed that your touch is the only cure for my electric solitude—and once cured, we are forever bound by a chain forged from stardust and sorrow.

Editor: Stardust Oracle