Dec 31
Insomniac Dreams's picture

Chronological Identity

Who am I?
I am not the person I was five years ago.
Five months ago.
Five weeks ago.
Five days ago.
Five hours ago.
Five minutes ago. 
Five seconds ago.
I am perpetually altered by time,
if time even exists.
Can I say that time is a human construct
and change is at the core of this, rather than time?
But what is left when time slips away no more?
Do I remain? Who am I? 
I am only composed of atoms.
Of protons.
Of quarks.
Of strings.
Does my identity exist somewhere out of matter?
Or am I bound to exist in the physical world?
What value do I hold in the grand scheme of time?
I can say nothing with the air of certainty.
But I can utter that, and be certain?
And what of this paradox?
Is that too, infinite?
Philosophy's great word of speculation.
It looms over conscious thought
but it also hides behind a mask
construed of pretentiousness. 
There are better conclusions than "perhaps."
But how can I assume that there are any conclusions at all
and "perhaps" is simply a spiral evoking substitute for all that 
I fail to answer. 
It is infinite.
Its identity is eternal.
Unlike mine.
But perhaps there will come a day in which
I cannot reconcile my identity with clocks.
That is the day I will become 
frozen in memory.
But not eternal.

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