Gone

Whatever it was is lost now to the low lying place behind the tamaracks. An object, a child, a feeling, that idol you worshipped and allowed to define you is buried in the peat preserved for another to find, identify and apportion themselves to.
It's like that, isn't it? So long as you know it's there and understand that it can't be rediscovered by you. You've buried it, but exhumation is no longer possible.
Reanimation is unnatural. The result is a dead wish, moldering on the edge of our desire, tender and soft and malignant.
You must make new and leave the anthropology to those more qualified. Return your shovel to the shed and just remember.