Mortality

I don't fear death.
I've long since accepted my mortality.
I know when death finally wraps a skeletal arm around my shoulders, and beckons me into its embrace, I won't resist, because I've seen the indignity of those who try, and those who never succeed.
I know the fear of the idea of immortality. The thought of your fate being forever in your own grip. The final release of the misunderstood Reaper we've come to despise never to be known.
An eternity is a terrifying thing. And I find myself compelled to shudder at the courage of those willing to brave it, alone. And ashamed at the avarice of my fellow man, who would, rather than live their own life well, extend it beyond their own cognition.
For after the passing of countless wives, children and loved ones, they will still remain.
After the death of Earth, they will still exist.
After the Sun retracts into a lifeless orb, they will still live.
And after the Universe has grown cold, and meaningless, they will still wander its void emptily.
A forever with only your own mind with which to interact. This idea is Hell to me.