Love in the Winter of the Cosmos

 

The winter of the cosmos stretched like a shroud of emptiness draped over the shoulders of time, where the cold seeped into the depths of galaxies, engraving its eternal legend. In the corner of an ancient nebula, two souls met—not bodies, but wandering breaths seeking the warmth of meaning in frozen nights. She was a faint beam slipping through the cracks of absence, and he was a trembling shadow at the touch of frost.

 

She whispered upon their meeting, “Was I an explosion or a thought?”

He replied, “And I do not remember my death. Was I an extinction or a beginning? But I have been searching for you since the first boundaries were drawn.”

 

In an embrace without arms, light wrapped around shadow, transcending seasons, birthing a surge of warmth that rippled through the nebula’s expanse. Their love was not a fire that burned but a cold radiance, like ice clusters slowly forming upon the window of existence.

 

Ages pulsed like lost heartbeats within them, as winter reshaped them with every cycle—sometimes dissolving them into the wind, sometimes freezing them onto the windows of galaxies. They never asked one another, “Who are we?” for love was never a question, but a tremor—a moment where the line between being and nothingness vanished.

 

In the long night of the universe, when time ceased counting its own pulses, she told him,

“If we are ever separated, I will leave behind a hidden trace—a faint ray crossing your galaxy.”

He answered, “And if you ever lose your way in the frost of eternity, I will turn into a star, burning to guide you home, even if I am reduced to ashes.”

 

And with the final exhale of the cosmos, as winter withdrew to listen to the whisper of love, their souls remained together—indissoluble, like a pure note frozen upon the string of existence.

 

Their union, in the coldest winter of the cosmos, was proof that love, even in its wintriness, could warm even the void.

 

And in the moment when galaxies dissolved, when stars fell like raindrops into the ocean of time, there was no longer a difference between presence and absence, between existence and oblivion.

 

The love that was born in the heart of nothingness had now become the symphony played by the planets in an unending harmony.

 

Breaths collided, and the universe fell silent in that moment that was more than a mere beginning or end.

 

She, he, space, and time merged into letters unwritten, into sounds unheard, into dimensions unseen.

 

And then, all stories, all dimensions, all times, melted into a single moment beyond memory, where nothing remained but that cosmic tremor drifting through every fragment of the universe—the whispers that no language could comprehend.

 

And in that singular moment, greater than any heartbeat, the only answer left was this:

 

They were.

They will be.

At the heart of everything.