Where will you be at the end of time? Whats the last thing you’ll think, speak, see? What will your last coherent thought be before you’re resigned to complete senile incoherence. With an incurable disease ravaging your mind destroying who you are.
You thought, therefore you were. You can’t think anymore, so what are you? You’re trapped in a decaying claustrophobic space, slowly loosing all sense of self before you’re completely gone.
So at the end of everything, whats left? At the end of time, who are you? You’re nobody. You cannot perceive, and you are not you now, you are nameless, faceless, past-less.