An interesting thing about sharing your life with someone is the way you blur the lines between you and them. You can’t remember where that matchbook came from. There’s an old scarf in the closet, and you don’t know if you bought it for yourself or if it was a gift. Is that your book on the shelf, or is it hers? You look at an old photo, and you can’t remember if you snapped it. That’s how I feel when I look at this. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I didn’t take that photo, even though I found it on my computer. But it’s that one percent of uncertainty that makes me wonder and try to think back. The memories are sort of fuzzy now, and I like them better that way.