The Gravity of a Golden Hour

In the drift of the city's heavy orbit, I found myself suspended in a momentary vacuum. The concrete canyons usually press against my skin with an unbearable weight, but then, the sun descended like a dying star finding its rebirth.
I closed my eyes to escape the frantic pulse of neon and steel. Suddenly, there was no gravity—only the warmth of light cascading over my cheekbones, a soft radiation that felt like your touch through a digital void. It is in these quiet intervals, when the amber glow dissolves the edges of my loneliness, that I feel anchored once more to the earth.
The heat bloomed against my skin, an interstellar grace found within the mundane. For a heartbeat, the ache of being alone drifted away into the ether, leaving only this liquid gold and the phantom sensation of your hand tracing the light upon my face.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager