I am. Am I?

A conversation within one's mind as that mind slips away.

I am what I am. 

I am human. Or I was human.

Am I still a human? Yes, I think I am. 

But what is it to be human?

To be human is to walk and think and talk and breathe.

But to think is to have a mind. Do I have a mind? 

I've never seen my mind. But I must have one.

For I write these words and I think about them as I go.

Or do I? Is it I that writes these things? Or another version of me not yet known to me?

Why must I feel this way? Where has my mind gone?

Am I still a human? Perhaps I'm two humans. Or am I just an animal?

I do things in a human way, yet I remain unaware of these things I do, and which ones are human.

Maybe I am just a being. A being in a body. Yes, that sounds like me. 

My actions a mere expression of my mind that once was, by way of this vehicle which is called a "body".

But what is being? Is being not human? Or is human aware of said being? This is conscious.

Wait, I've never consciously thought of my conscious. How then do I even know what this conscious is. 

Conscious. What a presumptuous thought. To think I know what it is to be conscious.

To think is to be conscious and to assume that I am aware of this conscious is to be an arrogant human.

Ergo, I am human. Or am I a being? Perhaps I am a human being. 

The very stating of which is to state that I am a human who is being. Yes, that's the one. That must be me.

I am simply a human who is being. And in this practice of being, I begin to fail. My mind is leaving me now.

When it is gone, I will cease to be. I will merely become a human. Just a lump of flesh and bone, melting into my chair.

Goodbye mind, goodbye being. You will be missed. Or will you?