The feeling of purpose has taken root in me now. I've met one version of myself who hasn't given up, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I see a real possibility of escape from the loop. But as we begin to plan, I realize just how broken and scattered I've become.
The man in the small room, the version of me who's still fighting, seems to sense my hesitation. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice steady but sharp.
I hesitate, struggling to find the right words. "I… I'm not sure I can do this. I'm not sure I can pull all these versions of myself together. I've seen others — versions who've lost hope, or just resigned themselves to the endless cycle."
He studies me for a long moment, his gaze penetrating. "They're not the only ones. And neither are you." He steps closer, his eyes unwavering. "You are part of all of them. Every version of you, no matter how broken, how lost, how hopeless — they're pieces of who you are."
The weight of his words settles on me. I've been running from these versions of myself, seeing them as obstacles, as failures. But maybe they're all connected. Maybe this fractured self, this endless cycle, is what I have to confront to break free.
"I've been trying to escape them," I admit, my voice trembling slightly. "I thought I could just find the right version, the one that could lead me out. But now I see… they're all part of me. Every choice, every failure, every success — it's all me."
He nods. "Exactly. And if you don't accept that, you won't be able to unite them. You'll never escape."
I stand there, feeling the weight of my fragmented selves pressing in from all directions. Every choice I made, every path I didn't take — they've led to this moment. And now, I have to find a way to bring them together.
"How?" I ask quietly.
"By accepting them," he says simply. "All of them. You can't move forward if you keep running from your own reflection."
I don't know how to begin, but I know this: I can't move forward without embracing who I've been — every version of myself. Every part of this fractured self that I've been ignoring. I don't know what the future holds, but I know I can't escape it until I stop trying to outrun myself.