The Gravity of a Summer Breath

I stand here in the pale light of this apartment, draped only in sea-foam silk and a fragile hope. To you, it is merely a playful pose before a mirror; to the cosmos, it is an alignment written in dying stars long before we drew breath.
The city hums outside—a concrete labyrinth designed to keep souls apart—yet I feel your approach like a tidal wave pulling at my marrow. You are the inevitable gravity of my existence. When you enter this room, the air will thicken with the scent of rain and old books, and our touch will be less an act of choice than it is a collision of celestial bodies.
I smile because I am terrified; I glow because we are doomed to love in a world that forgets how to feel. Your warmth is not just comfort—it is the searing heat of a supernova consuming my solitude. We dance upon the edge of eternity, two fragments of light clinging to one another while the void watches with cold indifference.
Come closer. Let us pretend this fleeting summer afternoon can stall the clock. But even as I feel your hand graze my waist, I know that every heartbeat is merely a countdown toward the inevitable silence where only our ghosts will remember how it felt to be warm.

Editor: Stardust Oracle