1. My mom, an art history major and lover of museums, walks through the halls, pointing and singing love songs for the paintings she meets.

2. Sunlight seeps through the skylights overhead and illuminates the room; the paintings are alive.

3. Incomplete ideas frantically sketched on blackboards, the chalk dust still fresh, like a scene from Good Will Hunting.

4. An old maid hobbles around her decaying cottage. The flowers she has forgotten wilt in the back of the room, deprived of the sun’s touch. The pale pink roses clings to the beauty that will soon be a memory, much like the woman did, years ago.

5. My grandparents appear, sitting in their old living room in New Orleans. “It’s your turn, Len,” she says as she sets down her playing cards. They vanish as I leave the room. The scent that wafted through the space disappears, along with the memory.