a picture of beautiful decay

This door in its prime, when it was used and cared for would have looked very nice. The leaded turquoise design of the glass and the warm sand of the wood. Hinges swinging open to let the custom in. The story of the door then lay with what was inside it, who and what passed through it to the heartaches, hangovers and highfiddlydees. A place called The Tavern, a pub that has been closed for a long time.
Now though the door is where the story lies. The closed door depicts the space where life once was. Time is written on its cracking facades and rusted locks. The busted lead windows. And, to me, it makes it more beautiful. Such a beautiful frame of decay. It is a story of time passing. Of a town shifting and settling elsewhere. Life finding other doors to pass through.
The door now lies locked, but you do not need to enter inside to see its picture of time, its story. A story of what remains, is left behind. Of we humans passing through and our finite hearts.