Once upon a time a Rejuvenant once again had his blood changed, his telomeres lengthened and his neurotransmitters boosted. Thus refreshed, he vowed to review his oldest life.
So he visited his oldest haunts. He found them partly matching his rebrightened memories; but also partly transformed with time. The Rejuvenant shrugged this off. “But I myself remain the same. I remember the old me so well!”
He recalled, with crystal clarity, where he hid a personal journal centuries ago. He found it in that exact spot. The pages were yellow and brittle; the ink had faded to invisibility.
Undaunted, he scanned the pages with ultraviolet light. He recovered the text and he read it; but he saw that the man who wrote it had nothing in common with him. That man’s beliefs, tastes and habits were not his. The Rejuvenant’s memory claimed continuous identity, but the text proved that to be an illusion.
The Rejuvenant said, “Then I have already died. I am no longer me; I am my heir.”
Moral: The best memory does not equal the palest ink.