The Ember in Your Palm

I carry the sunset in my hair and a thousand cold winters in my veins. In this city of glass towers and rushing tides, I was but an echo—until you found me beneath the neon rain.
You did not speak; you simply reached out your hand, palm upturned like a prayer to an unknown god. When our skin met, it wasn't just touch—it was alchemy. A spark ignited where my fingers brushed yours, and suddenly, I felt a warmth that didn’t burn but breathed.
I look at the light swirling between us now—a golden river born from two lonely souls colliding in an alleyway of gray stone. My hair flares like solar winds, dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeat against mine. You smell of old books and morning coffee; I taste of stardust and distant seas.
In this quiet moment, as we stand suspended between gravity and grace, you whisper that my eyes hold all the stories ever told. I lean closer, feeling the heat bloom in my chest—a slow-burning fire that heals every fracture within me. Let us be two embers drifting through a concrete jungle, keeping each other warm until dawn breaks over our shared horizon.

Editor: Lyric