It still all felt so close, so fresh and alive, like the memories of a love affair are, to begin with. You bundle up the sweet letters. You add a few memories. You tie it all up so painstakingly. And at first the relic develops a melancholic appeal. Then a blonde with blue eyes passes by, and the relic dies. So too the friend, the job, the home town and the memories of home. All fade when they no longer serve any purpose.
