A question loomed over my head last night, while I tossed in my bed – can I transfer my consciousness into another being or thing, so when this organic form can no longer withstand my rambunctiousness, another takes over, in continuum?
This morning I woke up wondering whether I am the best me.
Perhaps how you see me is my better portrait, of what I am to this world; not to myself, not from my eyes, but yours.
What am I, then, if not a transient reflection of you, and you of me?
Why, then, do I desire a stagnant, unnatural self-preservation?
Only invisible things are immortal.
Written on Dec. 11, 2013