Premise: Where love reached out to the stars, but drifted into the void.
billions of stars,
countless worlds,
the equations whispering: someone must be out there,
a signal waiting to echo home.
yet every telescope returns static.
a quiet reminder that the cosmos spills light,
but buries voices.
the great silence.
love echoes like that sometimes:
hearts, small transmissions,
whispered into the void,
lost in the endless canvas of sky.
some say the Great Filter solves the paradox,
a barrier unseen,
meant only for what’s deep enough to endure.
but most hearts stay single-celled,
simple, bounded,
too shallow, too brief,
never reaching the horizon
where the filter awaits.
but this,
this orbit, this depth,
this ache, this impossible reach,
felt like crossing the filter
at the very start:
too much, too soon,
too alive to survive
its own expanse.
a threshold met too early,
a barrier reached from longing,
and now, the echoes wander,
a whisper swallowed by the stars.
and maybe that’s the paradox,
for all the constellations out there,
ours was the one that felt the void.
and for all the Roman Empires yet to rise,
ours was the one without Cupid.
“A universe this vast owes its meaning to the ones reckless enough to call out into it.”