It was a metaphor for our relationship. I mean, who puts a door inside a studio apartment. It wasn’t just any door either. It had dead bolt locks for emotional protection and a peep hole for virulent surveillance. Keys were constantly lost and only found after hours of contention. The wall had been created before we had signed the lease but by the time we had moved in, a draw bridge had been installed. Opening to let the king and his men inside but closed to any plebeian sympathy.
It only lasted a year and by the time we found our own new doors, independently, the door in our studio apartment had been discarded – to the street for all to see and then, presumably, to the landfill, to die amongst all the other doors to all the other apartments. The only difference is that some doors are created to keep people out and some are created to keep people in.