Falling - Part 3: zero time and space

[Two people will be falling in love. We don’t know who they are yet, but we know how they feel.  They don’t know who they are yet either. Let’s call them Frankie and Johnny and Let’s take a break from Ruby and Lester.]

She moves through the world like quiet rain, the kind that changes the shape of the earth. He watches her, drawn in by the gravity of something he can’t name. The air shifts when she speaks, her words carry their own weight, bending the space between them. He wonders if she knows—she feels it, too. They’ve never seen each other.

They orbit each other in a city that belongs to neither of them, in a time that feels like it exists outside of reality. There each live late nights filled with words unspoken and mornings heavy with the weight of something unfinished. A love that does not fit into the confines of definition. I love that doesn’t exist.

They are not building a future, not yet. They will inhabit a moment, stretching it as far as it will go, unwilling to acknowledge its inevitable end. They don’t know where to start.

The first time they touch, it is not accidental. It is deliberate, slow, a question asked in silence. His fingers brush the inside of her wrist, and the answer is there, in the way she doesn’t pull away. In the way she leans into it, as if to say, yes, I feel it, too; it hasn’t happened; just an idea waiting to be inception.

It won’t be a love that burns fast. It will smolder, deep and patient, not knowing its own strength. It will a quiet wanting, the kind that will linger at the edges of thought, pressing in when least expected. 

They savor each other, not just in touch but in words, in glances held too long, in the pauses between breaths. Every moment is a choice. Every step closer is a promise that neither of them speaks aloud. They don’t have the words.

The city does not care for their story. It moves on without them, indifferent to the way they cling to each second as if it might stretch into eternity. But they don’t need the world to understand. They only need this—the weight of a gaze, electric proximity, knowledge that something rare and real is unfolding.

And even if it does not last, even if time or distance unravels the light and threads that bind them, they will carry this. The way it felt to fall, not knowing where they would land, only that, for now, they were suspended in something endless.

No names. No pasts. Just this. Oh, it’s nothing. Everything they will want is in a room somewhere, somewhere in time. 

God, how we all wish these two existed! They will be falling and for a long time. One day it will be flying. We don’t need to worry about the ground right now. Let’s savour her.

Savouring Her 

You are magnificent,

a vision I ache to taste,

slowly, deliberately,

a first sip of something etherial

I see you—

your lips, soft and anticipating,

I’m parting them with two fingers as I linger,

only after exploring the warmth of your mouth,

the heat of your breath,

the quiet gasp of surrender.

Every inch of you,

a journey to savor,

fingertips tracing secrets,

tongue learning the language of your skin,

bodies speaking in whispers and sighs.

A pause—

a stolen breath, a lingering touch,

a drink to cool the fire

before the embers ignite again,

pulling us back into the slow burn.

Every sense alive—

the taste of you lingers,

your scent clings to my skin,

the sounds of your pleasures makes my skin tingle,

the feel of you, burned into memory.

Inside and out,

in ways you’ve only imagined,

in ways you will never forget.

Falling: Threads of Light All Chapters

Falling: Threads of Light Part 4