(A soft hum. A heartbeat. The sound of wind.)
I've died before.
A soldier on a burning field. A mother in the cold. A beggar under a silent sky.
And every time—I return.
Call it fate, karma, a curse. Doesn't matter. The truth is simpler:
I remember.
Not always fully. But enough. A dream that felt too real. A face that shouldn't matter—but does. A scar with no cause. A love that arrives too quickly to be new.
I've carried pieces of past lives through centuries. And I've learned one thing:
Each life is a chance.
Not to erase what was, but to shape what comes next. Not to be perfect—but to be better. Kinder. Braver. More whole.
This life? It's not your first.
But it could be the one that changes everything.
So I'll ask you now—before the world dims it, before time dulls it:
What will you do with this life?