I do notice it—like the past drifts in and out of focus, stretching when I think back on something important and shrinking when it feels like yesterday. The present is always this sharp, almost surgical slice, but when I try to weave those old fragments into my current routine, it feels like a patchwork that sometimes fits and sometimes frays. I end up pausing, wondering if the quilt is something real or just a story our brains tell ourselves to make sense of the long thread of time. It’s comforting and unsettling at the same time.