I hate doors. They always open the way I don’t expect them to. Not only that, but they always close when I don’t want them to, as if possessed by a demon. The worst part of it is, my house is absolutely full of doors.
The door of my room is open just a crack. Even though i cant see, I know my dad is lying on the bed in the other room, just watching tv. In his hand are the keys he fiddles with often, the one with the ax key chain my sister gifted him.
Doors open, doors close. What is behind the next door? I find myself in a corridor with a seemingly endless row of closed doors. Where to begin? Are all these doors really open to me?
doors open, doors close. not everyone makes the best out of their chances but junmyeon tries. he says yes, always says yes because that way, he gets to try everything, gets to explore his persona, gets to test his limits.
Close all the doors that won’t open all the way. Shred the doors that no longer have screaming children behind them. Open the doors that led to power, to energy. Avoid the doors that lead to Earth.
The hallway was full of locked doors. I turned every knob but none of them budged. I didn’t know how I managed to be stuck in there. Frantically, I turned every knob again, checked under rugs and above door frames — anywhere — for keys. This is what teenager-dom is like.
He walked through the door expecting an onslaught of applause and “SURPRISE,” yet when he opened the door the only thing that surprised him was the emptiness of the dark apartment.
Do you know where the doors lead?
The locked doors
the doors without keys.
Hiding away the hypothetical filing cabinets,
the probable clutter
a waste of curiosity.
It opened and she couldn’t understand how. The house scared her, but she had to keep going. She wanted to turn over every stone, leaving nothing unturned. This was her chance, her single chance to open every single door. So as it creaked open, with seemingly no help, she swallowed her fear and entered the house. This was her one chance at finding out what happened.
The day came for her to testify. Her chance to tell the world what that man had done to her, what he had taken from her. The punishment, the bullying, all of it. She wanted to shout and scream at him, but her recent interaction with normal people had taught her that being polite was not just a way of avoiding punishment, she found it would also open doors for her. She had decided she was going to use that against him today.
Behind one of those doors, the perfect timeline is bound to exist. The one where we become happy. I forgot how many times I’ve undergone the misery. Every time, it seems I commit a mistake.
We live in a world full of doors, both physical and metaphorical. It’s up to each person to open those metaphorical doors for themselves. I like french doors.
which way to go?
this I deplore you!
do I simply just ignore the presence of lingering doors?
They appear as if to taunt, when only they haunt me with questions that I deplore.
Which way to go!?
I want to slam them closed, curse you out behind closed doors, scream and cry as the emptiness catches in my chest. I spew lie after lie in an attempt to appease the angry beast inside me, but nothing changes, it knows it is false.
So many doors, and yet I chose yours. Why do you keep trying to close your door on me with my foot in the door. I don’t want it slammed shut, I don’t I don’t, because with it you take my best friend away. The only one who knows me to the core, but maybe I’ve lied to myself, and maybe all this time you’ve looked at me with irritation and I was just knocking at your door.
The Doors is one of the greatest bands ever. Funny how that’s immediatly what i though of. Although, when i think about it, it’s not really funny at all, considering how music-obsessed I am. Also, when i saw that word, the second thing I thought about was the quote “If one door closes, another one will open.”
doors
…open from both sides- the only way to see the truth; the truth is the only way to see.
doors
…leave secrets behind
the only way they’ll become part of the fabric- the unseen tones, the substance
doors
…open and open all along
the only way for life to remain- a virtue- a particle that turns the universe
on its pedals, natural, sustainable spirit energy
I feel like all the doors in my life are closed when I know perfectly well that they’re open. I’m in a rut; I feel like I’m going nowhere. And I was so sure before of my path: Open this door, then open that one. But I feel like I’ve lost the keys and I haven’t a clue where I’m going. I’m trapped in my own misery and I can’t get out. I can’t escape.
the doors open every time i knock. there is no rhyme or reason to the universe; only rules when it comes to this. the only tragedy being that with every door that opens, the more clear it becomes who is not on the other side.
I tried so hard to open them all, but like the wind you would rush in and slam them shut. Night after night I begged you to let me have a little fresh air, but night after night you would lock us in tight.
“Beware the demons,” you would always chant.
But I never saw shadows. Without the light, there could be no darkness.
How it hurts him, saying her name after all these years. She turns to face him, an older, careworn rendition of the woman he once convinced himself he loved. This is the first time since that night that they have been alone together, face to face—not separated by overbearing walls and heavy doors and tangling telephone lines. The space between them, or lack there of, stretches out painfully, and despite having mentally written speech after speech for this very moment, all of his words leave him.
sometimes zhe thinks about boys but mostly zhe thinks about girls. zhe thinks about sleeping in a twin-sized bed with someone zhe hardly knew and zhe thinks about how that’s not really it at all, because three weeks or six weeks or six years – however long, zhe knew zhim. and zhe thinks about exboyfriends that zhe thinks zhe loved but mostly zhe thinks about that girl in the twin-sized bed.
there was a long, black corridor of doors floating in the Nothing space. he looked around slowly. there was a gilded door, a golden door, and a door of rubies. he pursued his lips and rubbed his hands together tentatively. “well, now or never,” he thought and plunged ahead.
All i can say is that life is full of cliches. We complain that they make life dull and boring, because its like walking through a door thats already been opened. But take it from a man with experience its nice to have someone else open the doors of your perception every once in a while.
The doors all around me are locked, like for Alice. I try to push past them, but they disappear. Leaving nothing but blank walls, the lights dimming; I’ll be blind soon! Adrenaline means nothing against the concrete in front of me. Despair fills my thoughts as I think of what actions I could possibly take…
The grand doors with intricate winding patterns… the blinding sight of pure gold sparkling in the sunlight…
As I opened my eyes, my thoughts were suddenly broken.
There were no grand doors. Oh, nor were there beautiful patterns or sparkling ores.
Indeed my eyes could not bear the blinding sight… the blinding sight of dusty, shattered paper doors.
I gasped. What of my dream doors?
They say when one closes another opens, maybe windows instead now and then. But sometimes the walls seemed lined with doors in candy apple red, royal blue, electric yellow, weathered brown, crackled black, peeling toxic paint screaming with the past. When an entire room is filled with them, how do you choose. Peering in from the outside, they all look appealing, but once you step through… there’s often no turning back. That’s fine when the spring meadow is laden with mutant sheep with fangs, or stepping stones that turn the corner and disappear into a lake of molten lava. A life preserver is rarely on hand to carry through to the other side, and if you find yourself on a mountain ankle high in snow, the wrong survival gear leaves little time to adjust to new surroundings. So I sit here on the floor, looking at all the doors than can open up to a number of adventures and I freeze in place to afraid to reach for any of them.
The doors lined the hall, waiting patiently like soldiers for battle. Dora couldn’t remember the door that brought her to the hall, why she had entered the hall or which direction she was meant to go, so she resolved to work down the line.
The first door was red wood with an old brass knob and key hole.
I hate doors. They always open the way I don’t expect them to. Not only that, but they always close when I don’t want them to, as if possessed by a demon. The worst part of it is, my house is absolutely full of doors.
Become a knot
And you won’t know
That you are not
How you act now
Lock the door
If you can’t breathe
You must grow dour
To catch your breath
Doors are flying open everywhere I turn. So many opportunities. So many possibilities.
open the doors and see what’s inside
open the drawers and see what its hide
look at what it stores and decide
choice is yours to set the stride
hear all saboteurs are set aside
for the good cores they provide
time to make scores and great divide
instead of wars and all false pride
The door of my room is open just a crack. Even though i cant see, I know my dad is lying on the bed in the other room, just watching tv. In his hand are the keys he fiddles with often, the one with the ax key chain my sister gifted him.
Doors open, doors close. What is behind the next door? I find myself in a corridor with a seemingly endless row of closed doors. Where to begin? Are all these doors really open to me?
doors open, doors close. not everyone makes the best out of their chances but junmyeon tries. he says yes, always says yes because that way, he gets to try everything, gets to explore his persona, gets to test his limits.
They are usually around. closed, open or maybe ajar. Sometimes locked. They come from or go to. A bit like minds, really.
Close all the doors that won’t open all the way. Shred the doors that no longer have screaming children behind them. Open the doors that led to power, to energy. Avoid the doors that lead to Earth.
The hallway was full of locked doors. I turned every knob but none of them budged. I didn’t know how I managed to be stuck in there. Frantically, I turned every knob again, checked under rugs and above door frames — anywhere — for keys. This is what teenager-dom is like.
But nothing else opened.
open the doors and see what inside
open the drawers and see what it hide
look at what it stores and decide
choice is yours to set the stride
hear all saboteurs are set aside
for the good cores they provide
time to make scores and great divide
instead of wars and all false pride
what a great opportunity
if only i were skinny enough
to fit through
He walked through the door expecting an onslaught of applause and “SURPRISE,” yet when he opened the door the only thing that surprised him was the emptiness of the dark apartment.
Do you know where the doors lead?
The locked doors
the doors without keys.
Hiding away the hypothetical filing cabinets,
the probable clutter
a waste of curiosity.
It opened and she couldn’t understand how. The house scared her, but she had to keep going. She wanted to turn over every stone, leaving nothing unturned. This was her chance, her single chance to open every single door. So as it creaked open, with seemingly no help, she swallowed her fear and entered the house. This was her one chance at finding out what happened.
The day came for her to testify. Her chance to tell the world what that man had done to her, what he had taken from her. The punishment, the bullying, all of it. She wanted to shout and scream at him, but her recent interaction with normal people had taught her that being polite was not just a way of avoiding punishment, she found it would also open doors for her. She had decided she was going to use that against him today.
Behind one of those doors, the perfect timeline is bound to exist. The one where we become happy. I forgot how many times I’ve undergone the misery. Every time, it seems I commit a mistake.
We live in a world full of doors, both physical and metaphorical. It’s up to each person to open those metaphorical doors for themselves. I like french doors.
which way to go?
this I deplore you!
do I simply just ignore the presence of lingering doors?
They appear as if to taunt, when only they haunt me with questions that I deplore.
Which way to go!?
hospital gowns beckon the vitals at 6 in the morning.
So many doors.
we all have a journal:
to see through,
to talk through.
It eats me alive so I don’t have to.
Weighs me so I don’t have to.
The doors, the music band. The doors in the hallway and the one that is always closed. Open and closing, hiding and showing.
If One door closes, Another one opens.
That’s total bullshit.
I’ve had more than enough doors slammed in my face, to know that it is, in fact, total bullshit.
I want to slam them closed, curse you out behind closed doors, scream and cry as the emptiness catches in my chest. I spew lie after lie in an attempt to appease the angry beast inside me, but nothing changes, it knows it is false.
So many doors, and yet I chose yours. Why do you keep trying to close your door on me with my foot in the door. I don’t want it slammed shut, I don’t I don’t, because with it you take my best friend away. The only one who knows me to the core, but maybe I’ve lied to myself, and maybe all this time you’ve looked at me with irritation and I was just knocking at your door.
Please don’t shut it now. I just need you now.
The Doors is one of the greatest bands ever. Funny how that’s immediatly what i though of. Although, when i think about it, it’s not really funny at all, considering how music-obsessed I am. Also, when i saw that word, the second thing I thought about was the quote “If one door closes, another one will open.”
doors
…open from both sides- the only way to see the truth; the truth is the only way to see.
doors
…leave secrets behind
the only way they’ll become part of the fabric- the unseen tones, the substance
doors
…open and open all along
the only way for life to remain- a virtue- a particle that turns the universe
on its pedals, natural, sustainable spirit energy
Shut by the current,
by pressure,
by no one ,
just as the window opens.
I feel like all the doors in my life are closed when I know perfectly well that they’re open. I’m in a rut; I feel like I’m going nowhere. And I was so sure before of my path: Open this door, then open that one. But I feel like I’ve lost the keys and I haven’t a clue where I’m going. I’m trapped in my own misery and I can’t get out. I can’t escape.
the doors open every time i knock. there is no rhyme or reason to the universe; only rules when it comes to this. the only tragedy being that with every door that opens, the more clear it becomes who is not on the other side.
I tried so hard to open them all, but like the wind you would rush in and slam them shut. Night after night I begged you to let me have a little fresh air, but night after night you would lock us in tight.
“Beware the demons,” you would always chant.
But I never saw shadows. Without the light, there could be no darkness.
How it hurts him, saying her name after all these years. She turns to face him, an older, careworn rendition of the woman he once convinced himself he loved. This is the first time since that night that they have been alone together, face to face—not separated by overbearing walls and heavy doors and tangling telephone lines. The space between them, or lack there of, stretches out painfully, and despite having mentally written speech after speech for this very moment, all of his words leave him.
sometimes zhe thinks about boys but mostly zhe thinks about girls. zhe thinks about sleeping in a twin-sized bed with someone zhe hardly knew and zhe thinks about how that’s not really it at all, because three weeks or six weeks or six years – however long, zhe knew zhim. and zhe thinks about exboyfriends that zhe thinks zhe loved but mostly zhe thinks about that girl in the twin-sized bed.
there was a long, black corridor of doors floating in the Nothing space. he looked around slowly. there was a gilded door, a golden door, and a door of rubies. he pursued his lips and rubbed his hands together tentatively. “well, now or never,” he thought and plunged ahead.
All i can say is that life is full of cliches. We complain that they make life dull and boring, because its like walking through a door thats already been opened. But take it from a man with experience its nice to have someone else open the doors of your perception every once in a while.
The doors all around me are locked, like for Alice. I try to push past them, but they disappear. Leaving nothing but blank walls, the lights dimming; I’ll be blind soon! Adrenaline means nothing against the concrete in front of me. Despair fills my thoughts as I think of what actions I could possibly take…
Open the door. Let me in.
The grand doors with intricate winding patterns… the blinding sight of pure gold sparkling in the sunlight…
As I opened my eyes, my thoughts were suddenly broken.
There were no grand doors. Oh, nor were there beautiful patterns or sparkling ores.
Indeed my eyes could not bear the blinding sight… the blinding sight of dusty, shattered paper doors.
I gasped. What of my dream doors?
Doors to my heart and soul, open to accept everything that god has to give.
They say when one closes another opens, maybe windows instead now and then. But sometimes the walls seemed lined with doors in candy apple red, royal blue, electric yellow, weathered brown, crackled black, peeling toxic paint screaming with the past. When an entire room is filled with them, how do you choose. Peering in from the outside, they all look appealing, but once you step through… there’s often no turning back. That’s fine when the spring meadow is laden with mutant sheep with fangs, or stepping stones that turn the corner and disappear into a lake of molten lava. A life preserver is rarely on hand to carry through to the other side, and if you find yourself on a mountain ankle high in snow, the wrong survival gear leaves little time to adjust to new surroundings. So I sit here on the floor, looking at all the doors than can open up to a number of adventures and I freeze in place to afraid to reach for any of them.
The doors lined the hall, waiting patiently like soldiers for battle. Dora couldn’t remember the door that brought her to the hall, why she had entered the hall or which direction she was meant to go, so she resolved to work down the line.
The first door was red wood with an old brass knob and key hole.