Answer:
I have memories but none of my own whatever's on my inside is what is shown. If I'm ever different it's because you changed me I feel like a decoration here for you to arrange me.
Every dawn begins with me. At dusk I'll be the first you see and daybreak couldn't come without. What midday centers all about. Daises grow from me I'm told. And when I come I end all code but in the sun I won't be found. Yet still each day I'll be around.
I go in hard come out soft. Blow me hard and I’ll make a pop.
If lightning strikes an orchestra, who is most likely to get hit?
I turn around once. What is out will not get in. I turn around again. What is in will not get out.
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?