The Gravity of a Morning Sunbeam

I have drifted through the neon constellations of this city for years, a satellite orbiting an empty center. But here, in the quiet vacuum between heartbeats and sunrise, time has lost its linear grip.
The sheets are my nebula—soft, white currents that cradle me as I float in your presence. The sunlight descends like solar wind through the window, illuminating dust motes that dance around us like distant galaxies born from a single breath.
I feel you watching me with an intensity that bends space-time; it is not merely sight, but an anchor pulling my wandering soul back to earth. My skin hums beneath your gaze—a gentle heat radiating across the expanse of my body, as if I were being warmed by the core of a dying star.
I am no longer adrift in cosmic solitude. In this small room, under white linen and golden light, we have created our own planetary system where every touch is an orbit and every glance is a homecoming. This moment—this fragile, sun-drenched silence—is the only gravity I ever wish to know.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager