Microfiction #22 – The Second Law

“You know what—heartbreak and death are the few things that make me ponder the second law of thermodynamics a little further,” she said, as she lay down stargazing the studded night sky on a cold grass field.

“Entropy?” he asked, lying on the same patch of dewy grass, “it’s just a bunch of derivatives.”

“Why do you think I said ‘a little further’, you silly?”

Both of them burst into light giggles.

“I mean, each and every instance we experience in every moment is just a series of disorders,” she said, “and you lose your loved ones before you know it—be it a breakup or death.”

He looked at her by his side. She fixed her gaze at the far-flung constellations.

“Yeah, this whole ‘arrow of time’ stuff—it’s a very curious case, yet downright terrifying,” he said, “as though everything is doomed to grieving for eternity.”

“Except everything ceases to exist in the end.”

“In the end. Yes.”

A silence fell between them, like the hush of the empty hill accompanied with the whistling gusts.

“It’s all about ‘time’,” she pondered deeper, “Come to think of it, what is actually time to you?”

“Our perplexing perception of time, albeit intuitive, is nothing but the byproduct of an anthropic experience of the universe’s incessant inclination to a disorderliness,” he answered, “from its mysterious initial state of absolute order—eons ago.”

“So, it’s an illusion—some sort of psychedelic mandatory for existing?”

“You can say so.”

“Going back to grief,” her mind lingered, “if time is illusively intangible, then it’s the information from the potent matter and energy that essentially gives us the grief. Funny how the persistent disorderliness of every bit of the universe impels what we called ‘strong feelings’—be it love or grief.”

“You know, as they say, what is grief if not love persevering?” he said.

“And how information comes about so meaningful that we later grieve for the loss we experience.”

“But isn’t that what makes life worthwhile? You can’t lose a home you never found.”

“It really is mandatory for when we simply exist,” she convinced.

“It’s beautiful while it lasts,” he convinced her.

“Like to know someone, is to love someone?”

“I’ll do you better—it’s like tak kenal maka tak cinta [1].”

They exchanged looks. Her eyes fixated on his. A merry smile evident on her sweet face, cherishing the moment amid the quasi-chaotic life infinitesimally bound for eventual parting and inexorable demise.

[1] 'tak kenal maka tak cinta' is arguably the most poetic Malay idiom that translates into 'to know somebody, is to love somebody.'

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