Grasping the colossal arch doors dressed with centuries of historic paintings, I prepare myself for the river of serotonin ready to rush in front of my eyes. I jerk the gleaming handles forcefully before a pounding echo dances in between every piece held within the depths of the museum. 

As my vision overcomes with vast, luxuriant sights signifying the epitome of perfection, I get immersed in the river I had anticipated earlier. My wide eyes begin to pivot back and forth as they attempt to catch sight of every painting, statue and sculpture placed before them until the front pageant suddenly grabs their attention.

Occupying the entirety of my right side, a grand masterpiece leaves me in awe. The pièce de résistance conducts a chorus of vibrant colours splattered amongst its dazzling surface — the rainbow of stained glass glimmers among the beams of sunlight leaking through every tedious detail. 

The neighbouring canvases scowl in jealousy as the piece’s overwhelming captivating charm pulls in every visitor. Dumbfounded, I stand there momentarily gazing up at the sight as if it is a pathway to heaven before I continue the strenuous journey through the maze of the museum. 

The sight of the solemn sculptures leaves my heart melted onto the burgundy-carpeted floor with gold details — even the floor was an opulent jewel of this marvellous hall. The ceramic statues held melancholic tales embedded into each intricate carving of the grotesque and cathartic scenes that they displayed. I start to discover the bygone legends behind these agonising faces implanted into the sculptures by reading the descriptions engraved into the marble plaques adorning lustrous golden frames. 

I continue to stroll about the endless hallways, capturing every detail and every element revealed in the museum’s limelight, hoping that every astonishing piece of artwork in this gallery would live in my memories forever to eternally wash out all heartache and unrest. 

Every vivid embellishment amidst the paintings would lead me to a story behind why the idolising artist took that exact, delicate brush stroke on the day the portrait was born. Although my memory might not be strong enough to preserve each shade, colour and stroke within my mind, they will always be welcome in my heart, even after I walk out through those massive arch doors once again.