My gut clenches apprehensively at the thought of an eternal immortality, drifting from one grey life to another, and another, and another, and I ask myself: what joy is there in an infinitely everlasting afterlife?
None, if I keep cycling endlessly through sufferable reincarnations - that is, without you.
Living on constantly without you is as dead as burning hell itself, which is ironic for ceaseless life to be comparable to deceased death.
Forever is a long time, but I wouldn't mind spending it by your side.
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