The river Lethe is wide, but shallow. Forgetting is a fragile thing, and the memory of pain or anger can resurface when the wind is right. I wade across, and feel the whisper of trivialities departing from my mind: four decades of seeing myself age in the mirror, and the names of countless old lovers wash away on the warm tide. These are my secrets. Let them not come back. The willing sacrifice is pleasing to the water, and I hear her whisper "Peace" as I walk on. I feel for some great change in myself, some loss of acquired wisdom, and find nothing.