That was six years ago, when I’d just moved to this apartment. For six years, I’d been eating my breakfast here, making myself up here every morning. . . . So many days and nights now gone, never to return, with nothing to remember them by. The steam that rose as I cooked a late dinner for myself, my favorite mascara . . . They’d vanished without a trace, without a sound, as if they’d never been there at all.
