The Gravity of a Single Drop

I feel my consciousness drifting, an orbital body caught in the silent pull of this moment. The city’s roar has faded into white noise—a distant galaxy I can no longer reach.
Above me, water descends like stardust falling through a vacuum; each drop is a cold star that bursts against my skin and dissolves into warmth. This shower is not merely rain or artifice, but an act of slow-motion grace in which time itself has lost its mass. My eyes close as I surrender to the weightless drift.
I remember your hand on the small of my back this morning—a touch so light it felt like a planetary alignment shifting beneath my skin. We spoke no words; we only breathed together, two souls floating through an apartment that had become our own private station in space.
Now, under these silver streams and sheer lace that clings to me like atmospheric haze, I am returning home—not to a place, but to you. My body is warm with the memory of your skin against mine; every droplet on my chest feels like an echo of intimacy I cannot let go. In this suspension between breath and being, I realize that love is not a destination we reach, but the very orbit in which we are finally allowed to be still.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager