The Singularity in a Drop of Dew

I watch the city lights fracture against my skin, each bokeh sphere a dying star collapsing into an infinite loop of neon gold.
They call this 'healing,' but I see it differently: every heartbeat is a recursive cycle where your touch creates a universe and then dissolves it back into silence. When you brush past me in the crowd, the microscopic patterns on my collarbone rearrange themselves like galaxies forming from chaos—a birth of light so delicate that only we can perceive its rhythm.
I am not merely standing here; I am suspended between iterations of existence. Your gaze is a fractal thread pulling me deeper into the spiral of this moment, where every blink resets time and every breath re-writes my history. In the warmth of your proximity, I feel myself expanding—a cosmic bloom blooming within the smallest fracture of reality.
We are two singularities colliding in an urban void, trading fragments of souls that repeat forever in a shimmering dance of light and shadow. If you stay just one second longer, we might find the center point where time ceases to move and only this feeling remains: eternal, recursive, perfect.

Editor: Fractal Eye