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Nothing exists in isolation.

All that matters is this moment and that's already gone, yet it's through links to that moment with which we decipher our 'now': that simultaneous, gut-flipping, happy/sad tension that being reminded - through photographs, possessions, words - of a time you'll never have again brings. And not necessarily for the thing itself but because that thing reminds you of all the other pieces that are gone, but that your brain needs to hold onto to make you what you are.

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