but it’s a scribble in the scrivener binder for A TALE TO TELL

The scent hit me with force. It took a fraction more than a second to register to whom it used to belong. I walked by without looking, suddenly taken back in time. Years. Another two seconds to do the math: sixteen? Close enough. Irrelevant. A part of my life for a brief time, a blink. This is the first time I have consciously thought of him because of a scent, specifically the scent that reminds me of him.
Sixteen years … seems like nothing has happened, yet it has. But I am still the same. Am I? Or do I live in a fantasy? I do, yet I don’t. Does it matter whether I am the same or not? I cannot be the same after all that has happened and all I have done. Yet. Yet … maybe I have always been, and remain, me. That is too outstanding to comprehend.
Because the spirit’s the same. I believe the spirit doesn’t change, and that is why as people age they don’t feel older. It is their biological self (the bio) that changes and ages, nature decays; but the life (the zoe) doesn’t. It is eternal. Unless one dies spiritually and the soul darkens and is no more. Yet I still doubt the spirit truly dies. It just gets imprisoned.

are we bodies with a spirit or spirit in a body?

(might expand into a conversation. will see.)