A Home for all of my Memories

My home is a place to live; it's a place of warmth, a place of laughter, and a place of memories.  How much of this do I need to feel like this is home?  If I have everything except the memories, is it home?  Does it even matter? Over time, our past becomes today's memories.  The things we whispered to each other in the dark.  The time we laughed so hard I fell out of my chair.  Or the time you watched me cry and held my hand.  Or that awful thing that happened that nobody talks about.  Who knew memories could be so fleeting and so powerful.  Perhaps I don't want to remember.  Perhaps it's too painful?  Would that be so wrong?  How then do I make a home if I refuse to remember?  All I want is to go home again. Wrap myself in the warmth of a memory so comforting and so secure.  To a time when someone else took care of my safety and saw to my needs.  I guess that is not really possible is it?  No, it's not.  so, it's time to remember and create a new home, a home for all of my memories.