Your pulse is a drum I haven’t learned to play yet. When our skins finally meet, the air catches fire, not with warmth, but with the sharp, bright shock of static. It is the silence before the storm breaks, the exact moment your breath hitches and mine follows. We do not touch; we collide. The voltage is too high for words. It burns the air out of my lungs, leaving only the ghost of your name on my tongue, trembling, unspoken.
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