I was trying to describe a flower to someone on the phone. A specific flower from my grandmother's garden, the one she had along the back fence every summer. I could picture it. I could almost smell it. But the name was just gone, not at the edge of my tongue, not almost-there - completely absent, like something that had been in a drawer and wasn't anymore. I looked it up afterwards. Hollyhock. A word I definitely knew once.

I used to know the names of plants and birds and cloud formations and street names in cities I'd only visited twice. That knowledge lived somewhere in my head and I could walk around and point at things and name them. Now I reach for those words and there's nothing to grab. The things I've outsourced to search have quietly gone missing from wherever I used to keep them. What's still in there? If you lost the internet tomorrow, what would you still know? What's actually yours?