Even in these bleak (yet awe inspiring) final moments of life, as you subsist in the depths of space longer than any human could only to be burned in the fires of a distant star, you are not naive. You know you can't just swim away from the gravity of a star with not so much as air to push against. As the French say, c'est la vie. Perhaps they should say, c'est la mort. Either way, you let the nuclear warm wash over your body, blanketing you in blisters, melting your skin, boiling your eyes, and mercifully killing you.
That's not the end, though. You have stumbled onto a death much greater than death. In the plumes of God-like fury that swallow you into the heart of this star you see no less than infinity. You are not nothing, insignificant to the universe; you are everything. When measured against infinity, your mass is indistinguishable from that of the sun consuming you. For only the most fleeting moment before you pass, you glimpse yourself as part of something greater, and it let's you die in a way you could not have expected: you die hopeful.