And who am I? Looking through the photo albums I see pictures of myself, beaming and content. Blond hair, honey-yellow skin, wrapped in the halo of family love and distance. But who is he? Nobody that I know. Someone else, it might as well be. Scientifically, it is someone else. They say the cells that make up your being replace themselves every 7 years. It has been 20 years since I was that boy in those photographs. Time replaced me entirely, and yet, I am him. He knows as much about me as I do him. Nothing. Perhaps a time machine would let me talk to him. His impishness would probably tell him to tell me to fuck off. I wonder if I could even speak his language.
Time is a funny thing. It replaces us and yet we are apparently the same. He is dead, that little guy. And me, I am dying. 7 more years to live until my future looks back at this stranger writing these words. I can't send him a message. He wouldn't understand. And by the time he can see me I will be gone.
They say death happens only once.
I say it happens periodically throughout a lifetime. In intervals. I have died and been reborn a bunch of times.
I am looking forward too my next unbiological death.
Dear future me, I hope you learned some things.
Be a loner. That gives you time to wonder, to search for the truth. Have holy curiosity. Make your life worth living. --- A.E.