It was

both beguiling and horrifying to think 
of the possibility of a second world. Blank 
as a new page or a fresh pour of plaster, 
but one  in which you could remember 
everything  about this one—and in so doing
refuse the romantic illusion of beginning 
all over again. You've made so many terrible 
choices in life, then made yourself sick in pursuit 
of pure absolution. Of course  it's the ones 
without conscience or compunction who'll say 
none of it means anything anyway. But what 
do you need another world for? Not ever after. 
Only, perhaps, what breaks in this one 
does so to help you survive every after.