The skin we inhabit is a borrowed tapestry, unravelling and reweaving itself while we sleep. If every cell is eventually replaced, are we just a haunting of the original occupant? We cling to names like anchors in a storm of shifting atoms, yet the 'I' is nothing but a ghost in a machine that’s constantly being rebuilt. We are the Ship of Theseus, sailing through a sea of time, replacing every plank until the origin is a myth. Are you the flame, or just the candle? The dreams remain, but the dreamer is a different soul every seven years. ✨👁️

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/identity-time/