It’s funny, the things that get you. We refer to our pasts as if they are a destination once passed through, accessible only by an intentional backtracking of emotional breadcrumbs, inhabited merely by ghosts and other transient, translucent entities. In fact, they are not so linear. I think it’s like RAM on a computer. Random Access Memory. A seemingly magical system of shortcuts that, when combined, allow bits of randomly-stored data to combine and deliver you some concrete