Doors are strange things. They separate rooms, houses, places. They represent where you cannot go, interesting places that are inaccessible unless you step through a specific entrance.
There are those physical doors, the ones you can touch, smell and feel. Wooden doors, carved with care that separate parts of a garden or mark secret entrances to rooms. Plain wooden doors, made of simple cheap wood, that hide passages to unknown places and undiscovered rooms. Metal doors, functional and sharp, marking out your place in the world by those doors you can pass and those you cannot.
There are those physical doors covered in posters, in an attempt to claim that area as your own. Posters that speak of what you like, your favourite movie or actor stuck up haphazardly with blue tack. Then, as you get older, those posters get replaced with colours of paint that you have chosen. Paint that changes your front door from black to brown and yellow to blue, pain which marks your house as your own.
Doors can exist where you cannot see them as well. Doors placed up around someone’s mind or heart, those secret passageways into someone’s affections which can be found only with careful looking. Doors that mark topics you don’t wish to talk about, doors that mark memories you want to keep safe.
There are even doors in someone’s speech, words that speak of hidden adventures or a past yet unknown to the world. Words are doors to someone’s emotions, their likes or dislikes, their wants or needs. There are hidden doors in words which give love to some and not to others, doors hidden in a person’s tone or touch that changes the meaning of their intentions.
Doors open. Doors close. Doors reveal more about the room which lies behind them.
They reveal the truth of a person to the world.