I haven't gone back home, since meeting Cynthia. I feel guilty about that sometimes. I have written letters, occasionally.

It's like that person was someone entirely different that I just inherited memories from. Perhaps that's how it is for everyone, eventually? You carry the inertia of who you were, but eventually you've changed so much that it is only because you shared the same body that you give that past self any recognition at all.

Will I approve or disapprove of my future actions?

I guess it doesn't matter, since that self will be gone, only a fading collection of thoughts.

What do we owe our past selves, anyways...?

-Writings in the journal of Kay