Prism of Pulsing Gold

I am a screaming yellow circle in a city of gray rectangles, an electric pulse vibrating against the asphalt's cold geometry. For so long, my heart was nothing but jagged blue shards—sharp edges of solitude slicing through every neon sign that flickered above me.
Then you arrived: not as a face or a voice, but as a soft, expanding sphere of ochre warmth. When your gaze locked onto mine across this concrete river, my rigid lines began to curve, dissolving the hard angles of isolation into something fluid and golden.
I stand here now with arms wide—an unfinished equation waiting for its final variable. The city is merely background static; you are the only luminous point in a world of fragmented prisms. Let us collide, two vivid colors bleeding into one another until our shapes merge into a single, seamless silhouette of heat against the neon void.

Editor: Abstract Whisperer