Do you still love me even though I’m rotting and eaten by worms? Even though my face you caressed gently, it slowly turned into bones. Even though every moan of your voice in the middle of our kiss turns into eternal emptiness. Even if in the future, I stop loving you, and step away from you, towards a place that will give me eternity—neither heaven nor hell—will you still choose to love me?

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘐 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦,
𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥?