two bodies learned motion without ever colliding,
long arcs through a night neither dared to rename,
charts full of maybes, trajectories hiding,
from words like devotion or gravity's claim.
they carried their pasts like unscanned debris,
afraid that attachment meant guaranteed heat,
so they called it coincidence, not destiny.
the binary forge was a temple of tools,
all iron, voltage, a touch of sleepless grind,
a kingdom where comfort obeyed only rules
laid down in plastic and screws by a restless mind.
then - laughter slipped past the logical code,
soft as a spark in a system that froze,
and warmth took a seat where the lathe used to groan.
one loved like a constant, unflashy and true,
no flares, no theatrics, no grand cosmic show,
while the other kept seeing herself as a flaw
in a universe eager to prove her so.
she counted her worth like defective parts,
read kindness as danger, affection as artifice,
waited for rupture instead of a start.
"not every bright thing is a tactical lie,"
said the one with the steady, unyielding pull,
"i'm not here to burn you or harvest your sky,
i just want to build where your silence is full.
no storms, no invasion of personal space,
only small rituals, shared cups and days,
and time doing work no machine can do."
they spoke in pauses and careful replies,
measured their nearness in inches of trust,
let old constellations fall out of the sky
when their names were revealed to be made out of rust.
fear reforged to loosen its death grip on fate,
and doubt lost its throne to a quieter state,
where staying felt braver than planning to run.
the workshop now smells like her hair, not oil,
its engines complemented by a breath and a song,
where touch is no longer a risk or a spoil
but a language that says you were right all along.
two stars still alert for the end of the light,
yet choosing, each morning, to share the same night,
their paths were now braided instead of apart.