Campion had always been less sentimental than me. He could ditch ancient treasure, or submit to memory consolidation, without a moment’s hesitation. He moved through life with less baggage, less to weigh him down, less to anchor him to his own history. I had always admired him for that willingness to discard his own past, while knowing it was one of the things that made us distinct, a bridge I could never cross if I wished to remain Purslane.
