Tears slip behind doors. Slammed. Sorrow’s shelter from Storm.
Love reigns behind doors. Quiet, stone still. A soft head against a shoulder.
Doors close. Locked. Listen as our footsteps flee.
Doors whisper, tell the stories of a life.
I’ve fallen hard for old doors. Chippy paint, cracked glass,
hand-hewned architecture . Bespoke.
~ A Sunday Moment
• Photographed by my sister x