A Kiss in the Dark

It begins like the first drop of rain on parched earth— a whisper, not yet a touch, but a promise hanging in the air. The world dissolves; walls collapse into shadows, the clock forgets its ticking. We are suspended— two constellations spiraling toward collision, a secret carved into the night. Your breath is a feather, brushing against my skin, and my heartbeat is a moth trapped in the lantern’s glow. In this darkness, where sight surrenders, I feel everything— the gravity of your nearness, the quiet tremble of your soul, the weight of words unspoken. This kiss is no kiss at all, but a quiet revolution, a map to the unknown, a key to the door I never dared open. Outside, the stars watch with their silent, jealous light. The moon hides behind clouds, a voyeur cloaked in silver. And as our lips meet, the universe exhales— not with fire, but with the soft, unrelenting hum of two infinities touching.