Where the sun never sets, enveloped in the night.
The wind; a measurement of time. Silent. With force. Turning each page gently. Deafeningly.
Moment upon moment; no story is there. No beginning to enchant, no ending to lapse.
Peaceful, chaotic abyss.
And Love, interstellar. Filling each space in between the stars. Its invisible light quelling the darkness into willing surrender.
Tying each constellation to the next, allowing the universe to whisper to itself. Of what it already knows.
It illuminates not what was or what will be, but what is always and what is never. Eternity, folded upon itself as a symmetrical equation. Solvable only by the transcendence of being.
Each flicker, a billion seconds or a billion miles. Neither of any push on the pull of forever.
And deeper, as the darkness finds itself, does it lose itself. Infinity waits. Each wave it breathes without air. Quieting the still galaxy. Perpetually paused. Never knowing its former self. Erased, to be newly drawn.
There it counts the time in between seconds. Holding onto every moment.
Love owns what resides here. Love created what resides here.
A cosmic ocean of connection. Every synapse, the blueprint of the Heart. The architect, Love.
The stars, unspoken. Outspoken. Understood only to the creator.
Never will there be another like Love for never is not known. And, the time Love occupies keeps it still. With purpose. With meaning. With everything.
Be Love.
