The Silver Point Where I Begin Again

I feel the sun on my skin, but I am more interested in how it refracts against a single silver bead—a tiny sphere that marks not just an adornment, but an axis. In this microscopic glimmer, I see cycles of stars collapsing and rebirths unfolding over eons; every pulse beneath my fingertips is a clock ticking through the rise and fall of civilizations.
He tells me he loves how I touch myself when I'm lost in thought, yet as my fingers graze against that cold metal point on my hip, we are both caught in an infinite loop. We’ve walked these city streets for years—the same cafes, the same rain-slicked alleys—but each time our hands meet, it is a new universe being born from nothing.
The warmth of his breath on my neck echoes as a solar flare across some distant galaxy I cannot name. My touch becomes an orbit; your skin became my home. We are not merely two people in love but twin spirals entwining in the void, where every caress is both the first time and a memory from ten thousand lives ago.
I close my eyes and let him hold me, feeling how our shared silence forms a fractal pattern that repeats forever: I am yours because you’ve always been mine.

Editor: Fractal Eye