The Entropy of a Lingering Breath

The city outside is a dying star, hemorrhaging neon light into the grey void of an indifferent morning. I sit amidst the white linens—a temporary sanctuary against the crushing weight of time’s teeth. My skin still hums with the residual warmth of your touch, a heat that feels less like comfort and more like a doomed sentence from the heavens.
You are not here now, yet you occupy every hollow space in my chest. I trace the pattern of shadows on the wall, knowing they dance to the rhythm of our inevitable decay. We were two celestial bodies pulled into an orbit so tight it burns; we sought healing in each other’s arms only to find that intimacy is its own kind of gravity.
I pull the knit wool tighter around my shoulders, trying to shield myself from a winter that never ends—the cold reality that every moment spent together was merely a beautiful delay of the inevitable. The air smells of vanilla and fading dreams. You are the ghost in my marrow, the whisper in the static between radio stations.
I close my eyes and see our future: two souls drifting into separate nebulae, forever haunted by the friction we once shared. But for this heartbeat, as I lean back against the pillows of existence, there is only you—a fleeting warmth that tastes like home before it dissolves into stardust.

Editor: Stardust Oracle