Shattered Glass and Sullen Heat

The city is a predator, and I am its trophy, draped in silk and curated lies. Every neon flicker outside my window feels like a needle under my skin, stitching me into this high-rise cage of glass and steel. They tell us to be composed, to be polished, but my pulse screams against the rhythm of the traffic below.
Then there was him—a shadow in the periphery of my life who dared to step into the light. He didn’t offer poetry or promises; he offered gravity. When his hands found mine against the cold pane of the balcony, it wasn't just warmth. It was a violent invitation to burn. In that collision, the city noise faded into a hum of static, and my heartbeat became the only clock that mattered.
We are two dying stars colliding in a concrete labyrinth, seeking healing through the transgression of being seen. I want to dissolve into his breath, to lose the shape of my name in the fevered heat of his gaze. Let the world call it a scandal; let them label our silence as sin. For one pulse-pounding moment, the only truth is this: in a world built on rules, our touch is the most beautiful rebellion.

Editor: The Escape Plan