On the Terms of Death
Do we ever really know our identity until we die? As we live, our identity constantly shapes and shifts. The only way to grasp who we are is to understand who we were, which will always allude us in the error of our memory. The only way to know our story is for our story to end.

But who then says who we are? If we are no longer around to determine that, then it becomes the burden of those who surrounded us, who loved us, hated us, and brushed our shoulder in the mart. We are left to the word of the people we affected. Without any say on how the narrative goes.

What is left of us when we pass?