In a world that measures love in swipes, likes, and six-month anniversaries, we have forgotten the weight of forever. We have traded eternity for convenience, and infinity for instant gratification. But every so often, a phrase cuts through the noise like a whisper from a forgotten constellation.
May you find someone willing to sit beside you on a hillside at 2 a.m., wrapped in a thin blanket, pointing up at a speck of ancient light, and say, “That’s number 4,721. Only a few trillion more to go.” Hasta Que No Queden Mas Estrellas Que Contar
May you find someone who does not just love you when you shine, but who stays through every galactic season—through supernovas and black holes, through meteor showers and long, silent orbits. In a world that measures love in swipes,