a million lifetimes

prompt: Write a short story or poem, in any genre, using this sentence, bolded at the beginning:
"Isn't it pretty to think so?"
This is the last sentence from Ernest Hemingway's novel, The Sun Also Rises. It is one of the most famous endings in literature. I'd like to see what you Writer's Cramp writers do with it at the beginning of your story or poem.

word count: 600

***

"Isn't it pretty to think so?"

"What do you mean?" he asked as he took her hand in his and kissed the back of it.

"That all this was meant to be. That every decision, good and bad, was just another step down the path that was always destined to lead to each other."

"Hmmm," was all he answered, his fingers intertwining with hers.

"Do you believe in destiny?" she asked with a quirk of her brow.

He thought on her question, not on his answer, for that he already knew, already spent many sleepless nights considering, but on how to best provide it. Finally he responded.

"A million lifetimes I have known you. Sometimes the lifetimes were full. They spanned years, generations, countries. Sometimes the lifetimes were tragically short, lasting only long enough for a midnight tryst or a shared glance in a crowded room. Sometimes they were happy and peaceful. Other times we left chaos in our wake.

"Sometimes we were friends. You were a physician and I was gravely injured. I owed you my life and spent my remaining days trying to repay you. You were married to my brother and I was your confidant. I only ever wished to marry someone like you.

"Sometimes we loved. You were a goddess and I was a human. I was the reason you gave up your immortality to live on Earth. You were a dancer and I was a prince. I was seduced with the first sway of your hips." He brought his lips to her ear. "I never stood a chance," he whispered.

"Sometimes we died for one another..." his voice trailed off as he instinctively held his hand to his abdomen. He brought her hand with his and she ghosted her fingers across the spot dedicated to her, feeling the raised, scared flesh through the fabric of his tunic. Sapphire eyes locked with coal ones before he continued. "You were a war prisoner and I freed you. I was shot with with arrows. You jumped into the freezing water to save me. I was rescued, but you drowned.

"Sometimes we fought," he said with a smirk, "You were a warrior and I was an enemy. We met on the battlefield and you ran me through with your sword. You were a war slave and I was a king. You were a gift to me, but I had not the heart to claim you, for when I tried your proud eyes shamed me. I had you beheaded, but I could not watch. I turned to drink to escape your face. I drank myself to death.

"Sometimes we never truly met at all. You walked out the back door of a tavern just as I walked through the front. I only faintly heard the door shut behind you. You were on a ferry, but I was late. I missed it and had to wait the next voyage. Always so close, but never intersecting, we lived our lives apart, we found love with others, we died. We were happy, but we had always felt a piece of us missing, always felt the other's absence, an emptiness that we could not fill no matter how hard we tried, not with music, or company, or money, or drink. Even in these lifetimes I knew you. I knew you were missing. These are the saddest lifetimes because these are what we fear above all else.

"A million lifetimes I have known you because knowing you is what I have always lived to do. At least, isn't it pretty to think so?"