Thought Catalog

I’ve often wondered about the fingerprints that the important persons in your life leave on you. There are landmarks on the landscape of your personality that could not be built without the existence of certain people you’ve come into contact with; many of which no longer orbit your present. But their memory remains in the patterns of your speech, an anecdote you tell to new friends, or a burning idea that alters the all of your future. Likewise, we cherish the cities we love as backgrounds, settings, soundtracks even, of our lives — moments nestled in street corners and memorized routes. It is the history of bedrooms, however, that become subtle maps of yourself, and the selfs you used to be.

What is it about bedrooms that seer the details of a memory into one’s skull? Is it the limited space that prevents your mind from wandering outside of specificity?…

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