Hypothesis: I think I may be in love with you.
Correction: I am indeed, utterly, completely, undoubtedly in love with you.
I’ve been thinking a lot. It comes with the job. But I’ve been thinking a lot about, well, about you.
You. You are just one of billions of people, made of billions of cells, filled with billions of thoughts and ideas and dreams and yet here you are, solid and complete and whole. It amazes me, to think of how intricate you are, how inside you is a clockwork creation composed of so many parts, all moving and turning and holding you up, suspended in life. It dumbfounds me, how you are so incredibly breakable, so fragile, yet so resilient nonetheless. And it pleases me - no, it surprises me - no, it exhilarates me, when you smile at me, and make me feel so...so full.
I know that none of this is real. Love is just a composition of chemicals, you could make it in a lab. There's no point to it, all just a ploy to continue the human race, to make us procreate and multiply, as is the sole point of every species. But you know what? That doesn't make it any less real for me. Despite knowing that all of this is just hormones, enzymes, chemicals, it still feels real. And that's good enough.
The universe, being vast and infinite as it is, must have different versions of us. Perhaps there are infinitudes of different timelines, different realities in which things are different. Perhaps there is a universe where we never met. Perhaps there is a universe where you hate me, or maybe in which I hate you. There are infinite possibilities, billions of things that could have happened. Yet oddly, I can't ever imagine a universe in which I don't know you. I can't imagine not waking up to you, not sleeping next to you, not holding your hand and kissing you and whispering philosophy at 4am. I know that this sounds incredibly cheesy, but...I wouldn't feel complete without you. And I feel that in every universe imaginable, I would love you just the same.
From a cosmic viewpoint, we're absolutely nothing. We exist for merely the blink of an eye. Me and you are going to die, and then eventually everyone who knew us will die, and we will be forgotten. The stars are the only things that are constant in our world, and eventually those will die off too. Our universe is impossibly, immeasurably, incredibly large, and we are so very very small. Nothing in it will survive forever, and eventually everything must disappear.
Conclusion: All this renders our love completely, absolutely pointless.
And yet, somehow, all the more worthwhile.