When a memory claims your attention you exchange a few words and ideas.
Sometimes after that, it’ll go back to sleep but in a different position. Other times though, it’ll visit you again and again, indifferent towards your annoyance and will make its case until you listen.
Not trusty recordings of what happened, clumsy representations persuaded by emotions and judgments, needs and desires.
Seemingly immutable things that are not that at all.
Life goes on, we learn new ways and hit record again to replace the ones that dared to show up.
Even when we don’t notice, that’s how we change this abstraction of the mind, always available for our pleasure and torture we call the past, that has never been seen at any other moment than the present. For only the present can judge the past.