Sometimes, she would try and pass the time by counting all the things she had forgotten. By her rough count, it had been three weeks since the smell of freshly-brewed coffee had slipped away. Two months since the last sound of a trumpet solo drifted away, twice that long since she could no longer picture her mother's eyes. It was around the time that Alice realized she had long since forgotten how long three weeks or two months felt like that the list became depressing and futile.
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