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I felt dizzy.
I couldn't quite tell how much time had passed. My memories felt strange, sparse, and fragmented, as if I were slowly dissolving into a thick, formless goop.
Slowly, like a caterpillar inside a chrysalis, I was reduced to my most primordial biological components in preparation for rebirth. And slowly, I technically died and stopped being my old self. Yet after death came rebirth. I didn't truly die.
Even though people say a caterpillar dies and the butterfly emerges as a completely new and separate organism born from its sacrifice, that may not be entirely true. After all, the butterfly retains the memories of the caterpillar. There is a soul that keeps both versions connected—the "me" that died before and the "me" that was reborn now.
