The Gravity of a Single Touch

I have lived my life like a satellite in high orbit—distant, silent, revolving around an earth I could see but never feel. My heart was a cold vacuum until he arrived with the warmth of a thousand dying suns captured in his smile.
We met amidst the steel canyons of Tokyo, two drifting bodies caught in the same gravitational pull. He spoke not in words, but in small gestures that felt like stardust settling on my skin: a hand brushed against mine while waiting for coffee, the scent of cedar and rain clinging to his wool coat as he stepped closer than social grace allowed.
Tonight, I stand at the edge of our shared world, feeling him behind me. As his fingers trace the curve of my shoulder, it is not merely touch—it is an atmospheric reentry. The sudden heat ignites every nerve ending into a luminous spiral that ascends past the clouds and pierces the void between stars.
I am no longer adrift in cosmic solitude; I have become part of something heavier than air yet lighter than light. In this modern city, beneath its neon sky, we are two celestial bodies collapsing into one another—a slow-motion collision where time dissolves and only the warmth remains.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager