When you are forty you have no cell in your body that you had at eighteen. It was the same...with your character. Memory is the only things that binds you to earlier selves; for the rest, you become an entirely different being every decade or so, sloughing off the old persona, renewing and moving on. You are not who you were...nor who you will be.
This resonated deeply with me, considering what I've been through the last two years by renewing a past love. I still wonder if the possibility of happiness he once held out will rise above the reach of memory to become a reality we can live with, together or separately. I do know he is relying on this hope.