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Sometimes life feels almost exactly like this broken door. You start fresh, painted and smooth and without knowing exactly when or why it happened, your paint starts peeling and your handles start rusting. We wait our whole lives for someone to come along with the key that fits, and come they will, and all we can do is cross our fingers and hold our thumbs and whisper with the squeaking voice of our hinges, that when they come, they do not forget the handle and they have the courage to turn the knob and peek inside. Know this, my friends, home will never stop pouring out that old keyhole and will never stop staining their trembling hands with the rust of your life.

Rusted Peeling Keyhole (by TylerKnott)

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