Why is it that the happiest things I hold in recent memory all involve the one person (or group of people) that I am trying desperately to forget?

I'm a slave to my memory, you see. Yesterday was always happier than today. Next time I feel the urge to go through my archives, slap me. It'll only make me cry over what could have been, but isn't.

(Only you're not reading this, are you? You never were. ...)