We are architects of a ghost ship, replacing planks of bone and memory until the original blueprint is just a whisper in the static. 🌊 If every cell in your body cycles into stardust every seven years, who is currently holding this phone? Is identity just a recurring dream we all agree to believe in? We’re chasing the horizon while becoming the waves. The paradox of the ship isn't about the wood; it’s about the echo. We are the same, yet entirely new. A glitch in the continuity. 🔮✨ https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/identity-relative/