How will I be remembered by History?

Frankly, I wouldn’t want history to remember me, for to be remembered means to die, and frankly I’m not ready to die. For to die is to be erased in a way that you don’t have any agency over.

That precisely is why I wouldn’t want history to remember me, for it may seem selfish to want to dictate the way I am, or will be perceived, but isn’t that all you have in the end? A minuscule detritus of control over how you are perceived, an apparent orchestration of the tale of what was, of what happened and what you wished to have happened.

Frankly, I seem to be taking so many segues but to want to control that which I don’t have control over is to chase the wind. And there, right there is why I wouldn’t want history to remember me…