Wandering through the crooked corridors of an old museum, I unwillingly stare at every hauntingly beautiful exhibit, waiting to crumble at the slightest of touches. These masterpieces of the past, are placed perfectly into shiny glass enclosures. It reminds me that our own scars are such, reminders of who we once were. Every museum is unique. Moments of love, ecstasy, sorrow, longing, pain, bereavement; frozen in time just as it were yesterday, hang quietly on familiar walls. The cold lonely winter may appear endless at times, but summer is not far behind.