Over time, memories build up and up and up.
Inside my brain, there is a fat tube reserved for memories.
It's like shoving dryer lint into that pipe. The fuzz keeps accumulating, and eventually it is just compressed into a slab of lint.
And then eventually it needs to be pried out of the pipe and separated back into light, airy fluff.
The good memories,
The bad memories,
And, of course, the ugly memories.
So as to complete the cliché.
And sometimes dryer lint is not all that attractive to look at, no matter how soft and whispered it is.