We do not return to places or spaces, we return to memories, like childhood as it ceases to be the past to become the future, projected distant and unattainable.

We keep walking, even though every part of us falls away, and then we go back to find our fragments. Fragments of pleasures that we devour, foreign words that are ours... Bodies, shelters, abysses.

But no matter where we keep them, our boxes, wallets and bags will have their memories discarded and forgotten. The wine will run out, the trees will lose their leaves, everything will go its own way in chaos. If at the end of the day our memories are not what they seem, we will have each other to help us remember.