I think that memories are like driftwood: I keep the ones I want, and throw the ones I don't back into the sea. Sometimes they're gone for years, bobbing out sight in an endless ocean. And sometimes they show up again the very next day, scraping the shoreline with their splintered edges. So I toss them back, over and over again, until the sea wears them down into something less jagged, into something less painful.
Image made at Fort Worden State Park in Port Townsend, with my Hasselblad 500 C/M.