"<p>It's strange how time moves on a person. Events, people, thoughts come and go, feelings ripple through one's soul, and then after a while nothing remains of them. They get lost all over life, like little useless things in the house. Here and there something breaks off from the person, some invisible little mental piece, gets stuck on a doorknob, a window sill, a rickety floor, a narrow walkway. We call such things memories, we honor them for a longer or shorter time, depending on how romantic we are. Then, beautifully and imperceptibly, they finally leave us behind, like old friends with a low voice, or like life, who started with us and somehow got left behind.</p>"