I remember the last time I was there: my presence still lingered, the memories preserved by the tokens of old. Were I to return and surely I'd find everything changed as to no longer know the place. Perhaps the memories were removed from sight and locked away into a box to be forgotten in some dusty attic. It won't come to pass though; I shall never return to that forsaken place, as I shall not look for those memories any more. It's not that they still stir inside of me or hurt me in any way - they haven't for long years now. It is merely a choice, a purely rational choice. There's no need for me to return there, to remember that, to relive in a reverie a life long lost.