We're done if we're undone
Finished if we are incomplete
-Gavin DeGraw, "We Belong Together"
JPOV
Every day you wake up, you're afraid it's your last shot, your last effort to persuade her. You feel like you don't have any cards left to put on the table, but still you try.
You never stop trying, because you hope that for once, something you say will matter to her; will make her realize just what she's giving up.
You like to think that all your tireless efforts are for noble reasons—saving her from a frozen life she'll regret after the first hundred or so years (or maybe sooner, you'd hope.
You'd hope she'd miss you right from the beginning)—but you know, you are doing this for yourself most of all. You love her (your Bells, not his Isabella) too much to give her away. Even though she's always been his, you can't imagine a life without her in it.
She tells you it won't be the end, when her heart stops beating, that she'll be better, more beautiful. Perfect.
You tell her that's the stupidest thing you've ever heard; you can't imagine a Bella any better than the one that's standing in front of you, the one who has been in your dreams every single fucking night since you first met her on the beach (back to a time where you didn't have the weight of the world on your shoulders).
The Bella you already know is perfection, even when you have your bad days. You know that when her heart stops beating, yours will as well. When her eyes open, blazing ruby red, you will want to wither and die. No, you won't want to wither, that seems to imply time. You won't want any time after she's gone.
Time will be all you have left.
You have to save her, to save yourself. So, you don't give up. You want to know how your story plays out with her (you hope there's so much more). You fight on stubbornly.