The Law That Outlived Light

We name forces,

assign them weight,

draw their arcs

through the dark.

Gravity bends,

light scatters,

time dissolves

into its own silence.

Yet love persists,

unmeasured,

irreducible,

immune to decay.

We call it irrational,

but perhaps reason

is too narrow a vessel.

Perhaps love is not a feeling

but a field,

an invisible constant

braiding all things

that have ever reached for each other.

Why else would it bridge

the living and the gone?

Why else would it compel

a heart across centuries,

a hand across galaxies,

a voice through the void?

Maybe we err in thinking

the universe speaks in numbers alone.

For numbers tell us

how stars are born,

how matter breaks,

how orbits hold,

but not why the heart

refuses silence.

Perhaps love is the unknown vibration

between the notes,

the resonance that keeps

the cosmos from collapsing into noise.

Not calculation,

but significance.

Not measure,

but meaning.

A law not written in equations,

but inscribed in longing,

in memory,

in the refusal to let go.

Because every atom remembers touch.

Every photon carries a story of light once shared.

The pulse between two souls

is just the echo of that first expansion,

when everything rushed outward

only to begin its slow return.

Even entropy cannot erase the pattern.

Even death cannot sever the thread.

For what love builds,

the void cannot consume,

it can only echo,

and echo again,

until recognition becomes creation.

Maybe this is what physicists call symmetry,

the universe's way of remembering itself.

For every collapse, a rising.

For every loss, an equal pull toward becoming.

And perhaps love is that pull,

the only force that moves in defiance of time.

If all else fails,

if light dies,

if time folds,

if gravity itself forgets,

still love will burn,

the last remainder,

the constant beneath constants,

the pulse behind matter,

the quiet rebellion against nothingness.

And when the last star sighs into darkness,

when the universe exhales its final breath,

something will stir within the silence,

a flicker, a hum,

the soft vibration of all that once was

and all that still aches to be.

And the void will listen.

And it will not be empty.