And as the machine of time grinds minute after minute into sweet brown dust, I begin to forget. I watch, dispassionately and without regret, as memories trickle into oblivion, making way for new arrivals. What remains is smells and sounds – sometimes they will bring a shade of a memory back and cause it to buzz around for a little while, lured by the promise of fruit flesh dripping with sweetness, or by the creaking of lilacs blooming secretly in the dark. It will bump angrily into glass panes and mirrors – and then, just then, if you’re not careful, it stings – until it finds a way out through the cracks I made just above the window frame.