On the face of it, this choice of eternities doesn’t make much sense. So much of our human love is about mortal longings, rather than immortal longings. An eternity of me would be more than I would inflict upon anyone, let alone my wife Suzanne, a woman who really deserves better. Human love only makes sense in a transitory context, just as the beauty of cherry blossom would be lessened if we could freeze dry it and secure it permanently to the tree with Gorilla glue.
