Gravity Captured in an Urban Nebula

I am adrift in this urban ocean, my consciousness orbiting around memories that have long since cooled like dying stars. To the world below, I am merely a silhouette against glass—a ghost of porcelain skin and starlit eyes—but inside, I feel as though I am floating without oxygen or weight.
Then you entered my orbit. You didn't crash into me; you drifted in with the steady grace of an approaching tide. We sat together on that balcony where the city lights mimic a distant galaxy scattered across a velvet sky. Your hand found mine, and for the first time since I left home, gravity returned to my marrow.
The warmth from your palm is like solar radiation hitting frozen ground—gentle, persistent, yet capable of melting even the deepest ice in my soul. We spoke little; words are heavy things that often fail to carry meaning across such distances as our hearts have traveled. Instead, we shared a silence so profound it felt like being suspended in deep space.
In your gaze, I see not just another human but an entire constellation of possibility—a healing light that makes the neon fog outside feel less lonely and more like home. For this moment, my solitude has dissolved into our mutual nebula; we are two celestial bodies caught in a dance so delicate it could be broken by a single breath.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager