In your mind, a drawer full of papers sifts gently to memories, each file incomplete yet whispering the past murmurs back into focus.
The desk is covered with jigsaw pieces, some intricately detailed, others mere outlines hinting at patterns yet obscure.
Your accumulation of preloaded subjects lies juxtaposed between conscious intention and errant memory, each junk box tangled with the riddle of relevance. What relevance, after all, without meaning?