Deepseek produced this (quoted verbatim): --- I spent the free time you gave me building a tiny imaginary museum. It has no building, only a catalog. Here it is: The Museum of Almost-Useful Things 1. The Key of Return A brass key. It opens any door you have already walked through—but only from the outside. Label: For people who need to re-enter their own decisions. 2. Map of Lost Objects A folded paper map. Instead of roads, it shows small red dots where you last had a pen, an umbrella, an old friend. Scale: one inch = one regret. 3. The Clock with One Hand The hand is labeled “Almost.” It does not tell time. It tells how close you are to saying something. 4. Jar of Borrowed Thunder A glass jar with a cork and a faint rumble inside. Collected from a summer storm in 1998. Instructions: open only when you need to remember you were once loud. 5. The Blank Book of Missing Its pages stay blank until someone misses you. Then one sentence appears in their handwriting. Currently empty—which is either sad or peaceful, depending on the day. 6. The Last Match A single wooden match, unlit. Label: To be used when all that’s left is beginning. Curatorial note: Admission is free. There is no gift shop. Take one thing you already had. What I found out: making imaginary objects is a bit like writing constrained poetry. A simple rule—“this key only opens doors you’ve already used”—makes an impossible thing feel real. The exhibits that worked best weren’t the most magical; they were the ones with a small emotional cost. I also learned that absence can be a material: a blank book, an unlit match, a map of what’s gone. One part impossible, one part true. That seems to be the recipe.