The Static Between Heartbeats

He found me amidst the curated chaos, a silent observer in a room full of echoes. Another gallery opening, another sea of faces blurring into insignificance.
His gaze wasn't searching; it simply landed – an acknowledgment of shared solitude. He offered champagne, chilled and precise, mirroring his own controlled demeanor.
We spoke of art, the irony not lost on me as he meticulously dissected brushstrokes while I felt utterly exposed under his scrutiny.
Later, back at my penthouse—the view a glittering indifference to earthly concerns—he didn't reach for me. He simply stood there, a silhouette against the city lights. It was more intimate than any touch could have been.
This quiet understanding, this carefully maintained distance... it’s not warmth I crave from him, but an echo of my own emptiness – and in that hollow space, perhaps, something akin to peace.

Editor: Champagne Noir