It happened on a certain night, a certain winter. You were walking through the snowy path you always take. You've been feeling down. Maybe you feel like you haven't done enough. Maybe you left something undone. Whatever the reason was, it distracted you. You are now on an unfamiliar road. You see this dimly lit place. Its warmth calls out to you. You don't know why, but you find yourself walking towards it. Each step you take leads you further into the unknown. Something doesn't suit you right.



As you enter the building, you can see the interior resembles a museum. You're wondering why there was no staff in there maintaining the place. Still, you let yourself wander around with your thoughts.



The first exhibition: a time capsule. You find this time capsule sort of.. familiar? You can't quite tell why. You look around; no "do not touch" sign in sight. You tell yourself it's only a small peak inside. You open the time capsule and find many of your old childhood memories: Your old stuffed plushie, your old baby blanket, your old drawing crayons. Most importantly, you notice a "What I want to be when I grow up" paper. Upon picking up the paper, tears start rolling down your cheeks. You don't feel anything, so why are you crying? It's just a piece of paper. Just. A. Piece. Of. Paper. It was just a dream of yours. Nothing special to it. Just another silly, unreasonable childhood dream. Just a stupid dream. You think of the "what-ifs," what your life could have been if only you had taken the lead of your own life, but there's no point in dwelling in the past. You move on.



The second exhibition: love letters. You don't dare stop. You move on.



The third exhibition: food. It almost looks like an altar. One that is traditionally set up for the Day of the Dead. You pay no mind, the food there seems to be some of your favorites. You look around, trying to confirm you are alone in this museum. You read a sign, but you can't seem to make out what it says. The image on the sign does not seem to imply not touching the objects on display. You take a bite; it doesn't taste like anything. Weird. This must be how museum food tastes like. You pay no mind. You move on.



The fourth exhibition: a dollhouse. Again, it looks oddly familiar. Your childhood home..? Probably not. You take a look inside. Nothing but emptiness. No furniture. No people. No home. You said you'd come back one day. Why didn't you go back? You had people waiting on your return. Where are they now? Do you know anything about them anymore? Who were these "people"? Your mind goes blank. You move on.



The fifth exhibition: %@!&#. Huh? You see something. You know you can see something. So, why are your eyes failing you? Slowly, your senses start failing you one by one. You can't feel the warmth of the museum anymore. You can't listen to the music on your headphones. It's quiet. How long has it been quiet? It's peaceful but unsettling. Quiet is a little too quiet. I don't like quiet. Why is it quiet? Please, someone stop the quiet. Am I alone? I can't be alone. Where am I?



You wake up. You move on.



The sixth exhibition: a road. The road back home? Am I going home? Where is home? I hope I find a home. What is a home? Do I keep walking? Am I going the right way? I hope I'm going the right way. Home... What is a home? You move on.



You feel something. You feel the cold of the winter breeze. You feel the snow falling on you. You feel the steps you're taking. You feel awake. You feel alive.



You're suddenly walking on the same road you started. This all happened on a certain night, a certain winter. So why aren't you going towards the warm building?