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?
"Perhaps".
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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