Drawn to Your Flame

Dear Centauri,

Sometimes I imagine a world with no boundaries—no unspoken rules, no careful silences, no lines we’re afraid to cross. In that world, I’d tell you everything. How you changed the way I see things. How being near you sharpens everything—colors brighter, time slower, gravity softer. I’d tell you that thoughts of you glow like a flame I never want to put out.

In that world, we’d walk side by side, no walls, no hesitations. I’d ask the questions I’ve tucked away for too long. What dreams keep you up at night? What memories have etched themselves into your bones? If nothing held you back, what would you reach for?

But even in daydreams, there’s always a flicker of fear. Because every fire holds the promise of warmth… and the threat of ruin. I wonder sometimes—am I Icarus here? Or are you?

There’s a part of me that fears what could happen if we got too close. If the fire between us—yours, mine, both—grew too wild to contain. Would it be beautiful? Or would it burn everything down?

Still, I keep circling. Like a moth drawn to a flame that both beckons and warns.

You are the sun, Centauri. Steady. Luminous. Dangerous. I tell myself it’s safer in orbit, safer never to land. But even that distance doesn’t stop the ache. Even that space doesn’t cool the pull.

And yet… I dream.

I dream of a world where I let go of caution, where the fall doesn’t frighten me, where love doesn’t ask for restraint. Maybe that world is only made of stardust and wishbones. But I still go there when the night gets too quiet.

Because in that world, I get to love you out loud.

Yours always,
Castor