I wake with a start. The dream fades. But not totally. I still remember its terror, the loss of an anchor for my identity.
I wake from sleep and am myself again. But how do I know I am myself? Sure, I can remember who I was yesterday; blowing out the candles on my fifth birthday cake; the wedding ceremony with Irene. But memory is not the reality. Maybe I was only born now, this instant, equipped with all the memories to make it seem I have lived before.
I will ask Irene. But she’s asleep. If I wake her, will she be the same Irene?