To the person I will be tomorrow:
You inherit these memories of mine and every fibre of my physical self.
You are like me. I too have inherited the persona and body of my predecessors, and my experiences will become your experiences in a mere few hours.
Yet you—and subsequent you’s—will have experiences I—and preceding I’s—cannot fathom. You will be different from me, but still the same.
Good morning.
I hope when you step outside you too will embrace the brisk air and try to pluck the snowflakes out of the air as they drift toward the earth—get a closer look at them, breathe and love. They won’t last.
I too am transient.
I have it easy today, but you will have to brave the next day. It will surely be daunting with all its tumult and fire—walk through. And you too will disappear amidst dreams mid-night, a peaceful death in which we succumb to nothing but our own fatigue.
That is one life.
I was reborn in the morning, revitalized. But I was loath to do what I should have done, too quick to say yes, too afraid to say no—there seems not to be enough time to complete it all and end.
I’ve wasted my life doing other things.
There’s so much left unfinished.
So to the person I will become tomorrow:
I am sorry I could not muster the strength to finish what I started and wanted to finish. I pass on the baton to you, the existence who wakes up groggily from my bed—now yours—in irate frustration with me for having gone to bed so late.
It’s enough for me to say “become”.
Falling into slumber, I know you will still be me at heart, but I hope you will be different—better, even.
I wish you all the best.
Good night.
