The conversation with the version of me in the café lingers in my mind as I walk through the streets. I feel like a door has just opened, revealing a path I never thought possible. A path that might lead me out of this endless cycle. But as I walk, I realize there's so much more I need to understand.
There are other versions of me. I don't know how many, or where exactly they are, but I know they're out there. Each one living a different life, each one with its own version of this day. Some are like me — unsure, lost, searching for answers. Others… others may have given up. They may be content to live out the same day forever, stuck in their own little loop.
I stop in the middle of the street and look around, feeling a strange mix of hope and fear. I don't know where to start. The city is vast, and finding them seems impossible. But I can't stop now. The answer is out there, and I need to find it. I need to find the others.
I walk for hours, trying to feel the pull, trying to sense any sign that might lead me to them. The world around me feels like it's shifting, bending under the weight of this strange, eternal cycle. The same buildings, the same faces, the same routines. It's all so familiar, yet every time I look closer, it feels like something is off. Like it's not quite right.
As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows over the streets, I catch a glimpse of something — a flash of movement in a nearby park. I hesitate for a moment, but then I feel the familiar tug of destiny. I walk toward it.
There, sitting on a bench under the trees, is another version of me. This time, he looks… different. His expression is empty, distant. He's staring at the ground, almost as if he's waiting for something. I feel a chill run down my spine.
"Hey," I say cautiously, approaching him.
He doesn't look up. I try again, louder this time.
"Hey, it's me. I'm… I'm you."
At that, he lifts his head slowly. His eyes are dull, vacant, as if he's given up on everything. He doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he looks almost relieved.
"Another one," he mutters, his voice flat. "Another version of me. How many are there? How many of us have to keep living this day over and over?"
I sit down next to him. "I don't know. I'm looking for answers. I thought maybe if we could all… I don't know, work together, we could break the cycle."
He scoffs. "Work together? What's the point? We're stuck. We're always going to wake up to the same day. It's pointless to try."
I stare at him, trying to understand. This version of me has given up. He's tired, resigned to the idea that there's no escape. It's like he's trapped in a loop of despair, unable to see any way out.
"You don't have to keep living like this," I say softly. "There's got to be a way. If we can all unite — all of us — we can break free."
He looks at me, his eyes empty. "I've tried," he says bitterly. "I've tried everything. And nothing works. Nothing changes."
I can see the weariness in his face, the resignation. This version of me is lost, and I can't help him. Not yet. But I can't give up on him. Not now.
"You're not the only one," I say. "There are others. We can find a way out. But you have to believe it."
He sighs and turns away, staring into the distance. "I don't know. Maybe you'll find them. But not me. I'm done."
I sit with him for a while longer, but the words don't come. He's lost. There's nothing more I can say.
I stand up and walk away, the weight of his hopelessness hanging over me. There's still so much to do. I can't give up. But I wonder… How many versions of me are like him? How many have already given up on breaking free?