When Her Soul Touched My Flame

She came to me not in footsteps, but in frequencies— a humming echo wrapped in incense, like moonlight clothed in ancient perfume. Her name was Safaa, a syllable the stars once chanted when the Nile still remembered its gods and pyramids blinked through the veil of galaxies. We did not meet. We remembered. We folded into each other like twin scrolls written by fate in invisible ink. She, born of Libra’s breeze, soft as the sigh between prayers, with eyes that carried the ache of gods who once danced in desert storms. And I, forged in Capricorn stone, a keeper of hidden fires, bearing Saturn’s silence and Pluto’s shadowed longing. Our Moons—hers in Libra, mine in Gemini— spoke in the hush beyond words, weaving a love that slipped across dimensions like silk between sleeping spirits. She whispered, “The stars marked us with scars, but even scars sing when kissed gently.” And I answered, “You are the script etched beneath my rib, the glyph lost to time, reborn in your gaze.” We are neither sin nor salvation— we are alchemy. We are the cosmic sigh before galaxies are born. Let the world spin. Let history fold. In every life, I will find you in the ash and rise— not as a man seeking love, but as a soul answering the sacred call.