Over the past few years, I have become enamored by the universe outside my home planet. While I toil through the drama of the human condition, stars and planets dance in predictable patterns; black holes eat and absorb and take without asking; dark matter looms with intrigue and possibility. For all the myths and mysteries that humans manufacture in an attempt to understand our existence, for as skilled of storytellers as we’ve become, no fiction can truly touch our ever-growing understanding of reality.

I’ve been making my way through physicist Brian Greene’s The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time and the Texture of Reality, and came across a passage that struck me in such a way that I find myself reading it every time I pick up the book.

Everyone appreciates a good love story because a good love story is how we all got here (she types facetiously, understanding full well the enormity of violence that has led to many of the individuals alive today.) Romance makes for great storytelling because it’s something most of us can relate to—if not the societally idealized notion of it, at least the longing that accompanies the lack of it. I personally find the longing more fascinating, especially in the context of spacetime.

Can humans, like particles, experience such entanglements? Can an individual be linked to another a world away, a dimension away, in some manner that we don’t yet have the intellect or instruments to comprehend? The skeptic in me longs for evidence; the storyteller in me operates in daydreams. Perhaps they’ll find their quantum connection just yet.