But theories have limits. Entropy demands disorder. The second law whispered: Even passion cools.
Now I study dark matter— the invisible mass of what we didn't say, pulling at the edges of my days.
In a universe of expanding space, you were my cosmological constant— unseen, assumed, holding everything together. Love Theoretically
And I would break every equation just to feel that singularity again.
Theoretical conclusion: Love is the only force that obeys no law except its own collapse. But theories have limits
We met at the quantum level, particles unsure of their own spin until observed. You looked, and I collapsed into something real.
In string theory, every love vibrates at a different frequency. Ours? A low hum. Almost inaudible. Almost. Now I study dark matter— the invisible mass
But oh— before the wave function broke, for one impossible moment, we were entangled.