“My Mind is a Museum.”

would you love to visit it?

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If someone asked me where my memories are kept, I don’t think I’d point to my head anymore. I’d point to a museum.

This museum won’t resemble like any other. Not the kind with polished marble floors and velvet ropes that tell you where to stand.

Mine would probably be much quieter and eerie in it’s own beauitful way.

Old wooden floors that creak beneath your feet, dust floating lazily through sunlight coming from tall windows, walls carrying the smell of old books, and countless doors stretching, like a labyrinthine hall, farther than the eyes can see. Every room holds something I forgot I still remembered.

Some rooms would smell like crayons, rain-socked afternoons, sharpened pencils and new diary, and the perfume my dad used to wear (I don’t know why memories choose to preserve smells so perfectly). Faces in the paintings becomes blurry, the voices in the hauls sounds like faded mumerings. But someone the scent of a classroom, and the warmth of holding a person’s hand refuse to go.

There would be doors I haven’t opened in years. Not because there was something frightening behind but becasue I already knew what waits behind them.

Some memories don’t hurt because they are painful, but beacuse they remind us a version of ourselves that no longer exists.

And perhaps the strangest room of all would be filled with thinhs that never happened. Conversations I rehearsed but never spoke. Friendships that almost begin. Apaologies that stayed in my chest. Different versions of me standing quietly inside each frame, wondering what might happed if i simple take another step forward to it.

Memories don’t stay the way we left them. Every time we revisit them, they quietly rearrange themselves.

Think about it.

When we were 12, a memory made us cry.

At 16, the same memory made us smile.

Memories doesn’t change. We do.

So does the museum, at each visit.

Perhaps growing up isn’t only about collecting more memories. It’s about becoming the curator of your own museum.

Learning which room needs to revisit.

Which doors to leave closed for a while.

And understanding that even the darkest gellery deserves a place in the building. After all, without every room, it wouldn’t be your museum.