I like them closed.

If you come into my home, you’ll usually see all doors closed.
Because as children, we were told to always close the doors — otherwise the warmth would leave the room. Leave the house.

Another reason: privacy.
I don’t have to share everything — or anything — with my surroundings, if I don’t want to.
I’ll let you see and visit my world as much as I choose to. But you could only guess how much you’ve actually seen and experienced.

If a relationship doesn’t work out — for whatever reason — I usually don’t just close that door.
I lock it.
Then I push the biggest piece of furniture in front of it.
Throw the key away.
Burn the whole place down.
I might even move cities or countries.

I’m pretty strict in that regard.
I need that clean break. That complete cutoff.

Because if the door stays even slightly ajar, it’s too easy for me to open it again in a moment of weakness.
And if someone truly wants me in their life, they’ll have to fight for it.
They’ll have to show up. With actions. Break that damn door down.
(I won’t fall for empty words anymore.. but that’s a story for another time.)

Doors — a fascinating metaphor.
Open, closed, leaning, locked, jammed, unhinged, soundproof, transparent…
They can be whatever you want them to be.
They can stand for whatever you need them to.
They can keep you out. They can lock you in. They can be the end. They can be a fresh start.

Now, the real question is:
A closed door — is it better left locked?
Better unlocked?
Or should it never have been closed in the first place?

What if I can hear someone whisper behind it?
Will I be strong enough to leave it shut?
Or will curiosity — or hope — get the better of me?

Should I give people the benefit of the doubt?
On the other hand… do people ever really change?

And when one door closes, doesn’t another one open?
Could it even be the same door again — just a little more polished this time?