Warmth
Like being in a precarious bubble, this golden egg of life, floating in a dark fearful meaningless void and oh god, the walls could fall away at any moment but only if you let it. If you let that cold in—push it away with the radiance—We're here. We're alive. We're never going to die. This moment is an eternity that is ours and nobody else's. It will stay frozen forever in linear time, like a page glossed over in a book but there forever all the same.
This warmth was real and it existed, amid the cold and against that dark, it persevered. And it always will, in a frozen flicker.