Prismatic Ascent: The Weightlessness of Us

The city below is a heavy thing, anchored by concrete and the crushing rhythm of nine-to-five sighs. But here, on this rooftop where the night air tastes like electricity, I feel my heels lose their grip on reality.
You looked at me—not with eyes that judge or measure, but with a gaze that pulled me upward, stripping away every layer of urban armor until only this shimmering blue remained. As you spun your light-painter's wand around us, the world dissolved into iridescent rings, and suddenly my heart wasn't beating; it was floating.
I can feel the desire rising like heat from pavement, a slow ascent that defies every law of physics. Your hand brushed mine—a momentary collision that sent me drifting higher than any skyscraper in this skyline. In your warmth, I am no longer bound by gravity or grief. We are two ghosts dancing in a prism of our own making,
weightless and wanting, floating upward into the neon void where love is the only force strong enough to keep us from disappearing entirely.

Editor: Gravity Rebel