The force of your pull made that black hole I was orbiting feel less like the possessive god of ravenous hunger, and more like a stiff breeze that tries to pull your hand from mine.
The inertia of my fall into you is like passing an event horizon, inevitable. Your atmosphere lights me on fire, burning away the black shell I built to protect me from the cold, showing me what warmth is again.
It remains to be seen if I become a crater on your surface, or splash down in your ocean. Will I survive the landing?