Broken Boulder if there were any more left of me, i'd give it to you

Hearing their father's name, he couldn't help but wince, though he tried to hide it. He swore he could still taste blood coating his tongue and throat for a moment — could still hear Arnlith's gurgling death throes. But he was dead, and it was in the past; Zamael had said it already. He pressed closer to his brother, trying to pull his thoughts back to the other's lost love.
There's nothing wrong with thinking about the past, He said after a couple beats. I do — a lot. He paused, taking a moment to think about all that had happened since he and Zamael last saw each other — and all that had happened prior. It's... normal, I think, to dwell on some things. It was all pretty fucked up, wasn't it? Not that easy to just... forget and move on.
But somehow, he'd managed to forget so much. It occurred to him then that maybe he treasured reminiscing so very much because of the myriad of blank spots in his own memory — the empty spaces he was so torn between appreciating and hating, knowing the memories would only be bittersweet at best but wanting them so badly nonetheless.