Immortality
I write my words still almost as if they are to shift and change before my eyes. In a way they are. These words are the fossilized remnants of words that even now are shifting and changing. pushed and pulled by the evolutionary pressures of the mouths that speak them and the pages they lie upon, words shift and change in meaning or form, becoming better suited to their specific use cases - just as a rabbit in the wintery north develops over many hundreds of thousands of years a thicker coat and smaller ears. These words I write are a snapshot of that time, a bone-bed that lies on some obscure corner of existence - as with most of the things that exist, likely forgotten by the next eon just as most organisms that have existed have dissapeared into others, their basic biomolecules helping to build another creature with their basic parts. Before even entering into the haemoglobin contained in your blood, the iron now found there was once part of a supernova. Life is space, and space is life - as all things are destined to one day die.
If time is something you can grasp and insult with your very existence, what sort of meaningless is that? If that is not a kind of immortality, I do not know what is.