She was the definition of entropy.
I never understood why I couldn’t contain her within me. Every time I attempted to, she burst out of my thorax until I couldn’t close my chest up.
Because of that, she was always able to see inside of me, always able to peer beyond the muscles, bones, and tissue and see the real me.
She was always able to love my imperfections, and when she inevitably found more imperfections, she loved those too. She loved them more every day.
Instead of finding the right puzzle pieces to fit me, she cut up pieces and formed her own picture. She was content with that. And when she called me a masterpiece, she truly meant it. She meant it more every day.
And when she framed me, she hung me up where everyone could see me in her heart’s home. Her home got bigger every day. Pointed to me every time someone asked what work of art had her smiling. Her smile got bigger every day and every day she would express in every imaginable way how she felt about me. And how she expressed it increased every day.
And if I ever made her cry tears of sadness she would remind me that those tears are just scars soon evaporated. And if I ever made her cry tears of happiness she would remind me that those tears are just blessings soon to be in vapor form.
Just because you can’t see these things doesn’t mean they aren’t there, she expressed.
Just because you can’t see or hold or envision my love doesn’t mean it isn’t increasing every day, but you feel it, right?
She related herself to science. Said that every molecule of her being had a dipole moment pointing towards me. Said that she was simply on the opposite side of equilibrium, waiting for me to meet her halfway.
She said she loves me more each day than the universe expands, more than the number of stars in the sky, more than a million words that could form a billion poems.
She said that energy doesn’t disappear. It simply changes from one form to the next.
So she told me that even when she’s gone one day, all that she is, has been, and ever will be, all her dreams, fears, wishes, doubts, sadness, joy, and love, will go to God. And maybe, just maybe, a piece of her will still be with me.
That maybe love can become something so profound that the laws of nature and physics can’t quantize it. That maybe love can increase until it becomes something entirely different, something no human has ever felt.
That maybe, just maybe, entropy even applies to love.
To her love.
~Virgenal Owens the Poet
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