Dear Diary,


    I don''t remember who I am anymore. Once, there was a name they used for me, a face they knew. Was I young, old, scarred, beautiful? It’s all a blur now. I can’t even remember the sound of my own laughter—if I ever truly laughed.


    What is the purpose of my existence, I ask. Who was I, I question.


    But no voice answers, only silence remains. Why, you ask? Because my friends, my family, my parents… they have long been swallowed by the abyss of time. I have outlived every soul who once knew my name. They’re gone. Time took them, one by one, while I remained, left behind with a curse I don’t understand.


    When will it end? I am so tired. I don''t want to live, but I don’t want to die, either.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Death has come for me a hundred times over, each time pulling me into its dark embrace. But it is never true death. Each time, I wake again, in another life, another body, but with the same memories. Perhaps others are trapped here, too, but gifted the mercy of forgetting, the grace of starting anew. But me? I am forced to remember each and every lifetime.


    My own memories now torment me, like ghosts that follow me from body to body, from era to era. They whisper to me in the night, faces of strangers I once loved, voices calling out to me from the past lives. I hear them even now, calling, pleading. I see them in flashes, fragments of hands reaching out as they withered and died, while I… I remained.


    Now, even my memories are fading. Maybe this is mercy at last. Or maybe it is the final punishment—a slow erasure of all that I am, until there’s nothing left of me.


    Maybe this is the end. Because now… I don’t remember.