My Life

The strange thing about memories is that they are not in chronological order.   I recall events that took place, but they are scattered across multiple timelines and worlds. I feel like an outsider when I look back at my past self; I want to know who she is and what she has been through, and I want to put myself in her shoes, as I do with most strangers.  It is like knowing every mistake someone will make, but not knowing what they will do next. I, like the past me, will cease to exist one day. I'm terrified of that day.