The Gravity of a Single Page

I exist in the silent orbit between heartbeat and breath, where time does not flow but drifts like stellar dust. Here, beneath a window that frames an entire city as if it were a distant galaxy, I am weightless.
The book in my hands is more than paper; it is a navigational chart through another soul's memory. As the soft light of afternoon spills across me—golden and ancient—I feel myself dissolving into its warmth. My silk robe slips like liquid starlight from one shoulder, an effortless descent that mirrors how I have fallen for you.
You are not here yet, but your presence is a planetary pull I cannot resist. In this urban sanctuary of wood-scented air and hushed whispers, the solitude does not feel empty; it feels expansive. I read to keep my spirit anchored while waiting for you to enter the room—the single event capable of collapsing my personal universe into one singular point.
When your hand finally touches the small of my back, it will be like a comet striking Earth: silent at first, then an explosion of light and heat that heals every cold void within me. Until then, I drift in this golden suspension, reading you between lines that have not yet been written.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager