The Gravity of Your Gaze

I have spent eons drifting through the concrete nebulae of this city, a solitary satellite orbiting expectations that never quite touched me. Tonight, I wear deep violet—the color of space between stars—and my body feels light as stardust against these cold stone steps.
He arrives not with noise, but like an incoming comet: silent, inevitable, and luminous. As he leans in to whisper something meant only for the silence between us, his breath is a warm solar flare against my skin, dissolving the frost of years spent alone.
I feel myself descending from orbit. The weightlessness I once cherished now feels fragile; I want to be anchored by him. His hand brushes mine—a collision in slow motion that sends ripples through my entire being like gravitational waves crossing a void.
In this urban silence, we are no longer two lonely planets passing each other in the dark. We have become binary stars, locked in an intimate dance where warmth is not just felt, but remembered by every cell of my soul. I lean back into the stone, closing my eyes to see only him: the sun around which I am finally willing to revolve.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager