Would immortality be a blessing or a curse for the one who has it?

Immortality, in the hands of a mortal, would be a profound curse. Imagine the sheer weight of endless time, not as a gift, but as a sentence. Loved ones would fade, civilizations would crumble, and the very meaning of existence would erode with each passing millennium. The joy of accomplishment would diminish when there is always more time, and the pain of loss would become an unbearable, eternal echo. We are built for finitude; our appreciation for life stems from its precious, fleeting nature. Immortality would strip away that very essence, leaving behind a hollow, unending existence. Furthermore, an immortal being would inevitably become detached, an observer rather than a participant. The struggles, triumphs, and simple beauties of mortal life would eventually seem trivial, a fleeting spectacle. Empathy would wither, and connection would become a forgotten art. The immortal would be a stranger in every age, forever out of sync with the ever-changing rhythm of humanity. This eternal isolation, this inability to truly belong, is not a life worth living, but a lonely vigil without end.