In the endless expanse of the Library—a universe composed of interconnected hexagonal chambers filled with every possible book—there exists a rare and sought-after section known as the Hall of Vows. Each hexagonal room in the Library mirrors the next: walls lined with shelves, each shelf holding volumes identical in size but infinitely varied in content. Yet, in the Hall of Vows, the books whisper only of promises, commitments, and sacred bonds between souls.
This elusive section is rumored to contain every marriage vow ever spoken, imagined, or yet to be uttered. The very idea that somewhere on these shelves lies the perfect words to express the depth of one's love has drawn countless seekers, desperate to kindle their hearts.
The Hall of Vows will not be marked by any grand sign or distinguished by ornate decoration. Perhaps no one has visited it, or will ever visit it, but its existence is nonetheless a mathematical certainty.
I, like many before me, have wandered these infinite corridors in search of meaning. I once visited The Hall of Vows, if only in a dream.
Upon entering, the ambient light softens, and the air carries a faint scent of aged parchment and blooming flowers.
I pull a volume at random, its cover unadorned. Opening to the middle, I find a vow in an ancient script—it appears to be a Welsh-Inuit hybrid of Catalan, with hints of Old Norse. Despite the unfamiliar tongue, the sentiment is clear: a vow of eternal partnership, of facing life's uncertainties hand in hand, of love as both sanctuary and adventure.
Some volumes hold vows simple and concise, others are filled with epic odes spanning pages. There are vows exchanged between souls of different worlds, promises made under foreign stars, commitments that defy conventions.
I open a volume in a hexagon many floors above where I first entered. It contains vows in a language not yet invented—a quantum entanglement-based syntax, outlining mind-to-mind translation matrices, designed for faithful intergalactic transmission. These vows will be invoked millennia from now by digital minds experiencing hyperlove in the romantic glow of an accretion disc.
As I delved deeper, I came to a profound understanding: no single vow could capture the entirety of love's expression for any two individuals. The perfect vow is not hidden on a distant shelf, but crafted in the hearts of those who pledge themselves to one another. Symbols form words, which compose descriptions of vows, but these are not the vows themselves.
The true essence of a vow lies beyond language. It resides in the shared experiences, the silent understandings, and the unspoken commitments that two people cultivate together.
Compared to the space in which vows themselves abide, all Libraries are small.
My sister asked me to deliver a reading at her wedding. We're a secular family, so I wanted to write something completely new—inspired by Borges' Library of Babel and the expansiveness of the sci-fi I've been reading lately, like The Culture Series and The Three-Body Problem.
