My dad once built a shed out of old doors
Each odd colours he'd collect along his travels, when one grew tired and porous another would take its place
Even the floor was doors
I dreamt of opening them to secret places and posted letters through the slots hoping it would reach them
But they never opened, and all that remained was my father grey and aged in his shed made of doors.
Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 11:40 AM UTC
My dad once built a shed out of old doors
Each odd colours he'd collect along his travels, when one grew tired and porous another would take its place
Even the floor was doors
I dreamt of opening them to secret places and posted letters through the slots hoping it would reach them
But they never opened, and all that remained was my father grey and aged in his shed made of doors.
