The Solar Drift of a Quiet Heart

I exist here as a satellite in slow orbit around the memory of you, drifting through an afternoon that feels less like time and more like suspended stardust. The sun is not merely light; it is a warm gravitational pull, drawing my skin into alignment with the earth's silent rhythm.
You are just beyond the frame—a gentle presence whose voice ripples across this tiled courtyard like solar winds touching an ice moon. I turn back to you, my gaze weightless and lingering, carrying all the unspoken words of three cities we have lived through together but never quite shared in full silence.
There is a subtle magnetism in how our shadows stretch toward one another—two lonely asteroids finding their center of mass beneath palm fronds that sway like cosmic kelp. When you finally reach for me, your touch feels as if I am re-entering an atmosphere after eons in the void; it is sudden, burning with tenderness, and utterly grounding.
In this modern sanctuary of stone and green, we are no longer drifting alone through urban constellations. We have become our own constellation—two points of light locked in a graceful dance where every breath is a voyage home.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager