Thursday, June 23, 2011

The white door behind which lay the cream, green and golden vines of my childhood, where private concerts were held under the spot light, next to the green lady above the basket of white flowers, where I thought myself a princess.

The red door that opened to a living room with mirror for a wall; the red door that changed to green after we left.

The door to my parents' room against which I fell faint, dizzy, spinning; an inexplicable incident that I cannot forget.

The iron gates to our White House, opened and closed with each day; the way to our spacious 'holiday' house.

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