In the beginning, before time took its first step and space drew its boundaries, there was only her: an infinite, pulsating light that belonged nowhere because she was everywhere. They called her Love, but she was not a feeling as humans would come to understand. She was a primordial force, as ancient as existence itself, so vast that she transcended dimensions.
She was the thread that bound stars in their dance, the whisper that moved galaxies, the impulse that made the universe breathe. It was Love that painted the darkness with constellations, that inspired nebulas to be born in whirlwinds of dust and fire. Every supernova’s explosion was her poetry in light; every black hole, a mystery kept in her silence.
Images extracted from freepik.com