This is the door leading into our apartment building. Sometimes, someone holds it open for me, at other times I hold it for others. Often there's no one but me. Always, it swings and bangs and opens and shuts.
Someone wrote the old code on the frame of the door, but it's changed since then. It's now #9480#. The numbers peep when they're pounded, then there's a click, and the door swings open once more.
For four years, I've climbed these stairs - seven flights - sometimes several times a day. This chipped piece is on the 6th floor, leading to the 6.5 landing and means I'm almost home.
I've often wondered how it happened and how long it will be before it's replaced.
Out of the near one-hundred, this is the only one that sticks out, that I'll remember.
Our home. Where the door is most always open.
The door decoration is slightly skewed, probably because when the kids left to play outside they slammed the door a little too hard.
After four years of opening and closing, of memories made inside and out, in one-hundred days, these doors will close for the last time. Then, we'll hope on a plane, watch a few movies, then land in America.
Ready to open new doors.
: Last 100 Days :