What Is Love?

Philosophers called it essence.

Poets, a wound.

Science tried to explain it through chemistry.

But perhaps love is precisely that

which escapes any formula.

No calculation predicts the moment it is born.

No theory explains why it endures.

It happens in the blind spot of reason,

where the unpredictable becomes law

and the impossible, natural.

If everything that exists is energy,

then love is its purest form,

because it requires neither space to occupy

nor time to endure.

It is what keeps the departed alive—

what transcends matter

and transforms absence into presence.

Love is the greatest proof

that something exists beyond the physical—

something no instrument can measure.

For it reveals itself not in numbers or equations,

but in the pulse of feeling.

Feeling is the instrument.

It is what deciphers the unspeakable,

capturing what no machine can translate.

Love is capable of bending time:

making a single second hold a lifetime,

and a lifetime fit into an instant.

It is the singularity where everything collapses,

where space and time cease to obey

the laws of science.

What is love, after all?

I would say it is what remains of the divine in us—

the part of us untouched by time,

the reminder that existence only makes sense

as long as there is something

to which we can dedicate

the infinity

dwelling within us.