Have you been?
Did you hear?
The museum is open to view.
I forget what it\'s called.
I can\'t remember right,
but I almost had it in my mind.
Either way, I think I\'ll go.
I think I will look at all it holds.
I\'ll pass a page on a glass stand.
It\'s old and brown and stained.
It\'s a love letter to someone who\'s gone.
It said,
“Dear so-and-so,
I wish it could have lasted longer, dear.”
And after that, I didn\'t want to read more,
for I knew a letter once,
so familiar,
just like that.
And I walked past a painting
with a fingerprint,
with drops of blue paint
resembling tears.
It said something about someone
who made an impact
that almost lasted a year.
So I went on,
not wanting to think
how this museum holds things
I can relate to.
I saw a mug stained with coffee.
It had a chipped rim,
and lipstick was still placed there.
And as I passed it,
it was like I could hear someone
wanting to yell, stay here.
But their tongue was tied,
and their lips were sealed.
So I went on.
Then I came across a banner
that was red.
It held a name
I swore I had meant—
but if I had...
I probably wouldn\'t be here
remembering your name,
but speaking it.
And I went on
to see a picture of me,
holding the things I wanted to forget:
Love letters,
help-me notes,
tears of loss,
and almost.
Now I remember
what it\'s called.
The Museum of Memories,
and people who almost stayed.
How did I forget
my own name?