We're pretty good at generating it, you & I.
The flotsam and detritus hints we drop that we've been through here too. Bits of metal & shards of wood, or scrap of cloth & paper clipping. Books we haven't read yet but mean to. Gadgets that overflow the camera bag and the tins of cookies that haven't been delivered yet.
Somehow, all by itself it seems, somehow it merges together into the evidence that you & me somehow became us.
Could some archaeologist separate it into it's component pieces? Or, has a little bit of you become me that can no longer be untangled? Would the untangling leave the two empty and no longer whole?
To the woman who married me: twist us like a pretzel, I want the untangling to be impossible.