We met at the quantum level, particles unsure of their own spin until observed. You looked, and I collapsed into something real.
But oh— before the wave function broke, for one impossible moment, we were entangled.
In a universe of expanding space, you were my cosmological constant— unseen, assumed, holding everything together.
And I would break every equation just to feel that singularity again.
Now I study dark matter— the invisible mass of what we didn't say, pulling at the edges of my days.
But theories have limits. Entropy demands disorder. The second law whispered: Even passion cools.
I tried to solve for us: two variables, one equation, no unique solution. Just probability clouds and light cones that never touch.