A perfect door
The door stays closed and when prompted it freely opens to a tiny towel closet.
Its cosmetic appearance almost goes unnoticed.
Without the door properly latching, it does tend to open just enough to stub a toe on, but besides that, it succeeds in all of it’s functions. It opens, and it shuts…
There is nothing unusual about this door. It conforms to the house just fine…
Although slightly narrower, it is the same height as the others, but still it seems to loom taller,
a comedic illusion played by our eyes like a mirror at a carnival…
Some doors open to rooms and hallways, some doors stay closed.
This one does none of that perfectly.
It hangs slightly off, not enough to demand repair, which makes me think the installer noticed and chose not to correct it, perhaps out of fatigue, or of indifference, or understanding that precision was no longer necessary when you’re someone who figures the world will settle itself out and a door is just a door.
I imagine that the person who placed this door prioritized profit or expedience over quality craftsmanship.
leaving it just slightly askew because
attention to detail costs time, money, and resources. measured by hope and not accuracy.
Although all of that may be true, I like this door and all of its imperfections because it’s a fingerprint of the person who installed it.
At night, I stumble into it, and I know I will do it again tomorrow.
The door doesn’t behave as expected. Objects, life, people, they rarely behave exactly as we want.
At some point, there might be someone who comes along and adjusts it. Or replaces it. It might meet its fate in a devastating house fire… Until then,
The door keeps leaning, a minor cosmetic anomaly that, given the opportunity, I wouldn’t want to change anything about.
Its flaws disappear when you stop paying attention.
