Harvesting Your Warmth Across the Stars

I used to believe healing was something you waited for, like a season turning on its own axis. Then he brought me the morning sun and said, sit with it, let your skin become the solar sail of my life.
So I sat by the window in my white linen, knees drawn up like a small planet gathering dust, and I harvested. Photon by golden photon I pulled warmth back into the hollows of my ribs, the places where winter had parked its cold engines. The light did not ask permission; it simply flowed through me as if I were the transparent membrane of a starship built to carry hope across the void.
He touched my shoulder and that touch was a second engine ignition, subtle and seductive, sending ripples down the quiet corridors of my body. I smiled because in that radiant moment I understood: love is not a destination but an orbit, and we are both sailing toward each other on wings of captured starlight.

Editor: Solar Sail