Someone has gone silent on the speaker, and the poem suggests the reason is something the speaker shared. "Ghosting" means being cut off without explanation, and the first line ties that cold treatment directly to an act of openness: the speaker told too much, and the other person vanished. The speaker's response is to close the door. "Those hours are now sealed" reads as a decision to lock away the time spent together, as if it can no longer be touched or revisited with anyone else.
The last line shifts the tone. Those memories become "private film reels" kept in a "museum," which makes the past feel preserved, curated, and a little lonely. The speaker is the only visitor. There's hurt here, but also a quiet dignity, since the speaker is choosing to protect what remains. The mood is hushed and wistful, with a sense of guarded sadness. The short lines, and the title "Archives," reinforce the idea of something filed away and finished.