Propositional prose

Gently push open the crimson wooden door, it creaks. I don't know how many times I've been here, but I always leave with regret.

Maybe behind the door is what I want. I thought like this and left again.

Walking in the busy street, it is already dark, just like splashing ink. There are not many people on the road. Sighed and walked home in the dim light.

That door may be a dream that I can never reach. How many doors have been opened along the way, but this door can't be opened. Reached out and touched the key in his pocket. What! ? No? Did it fall on the road? I turned my head and looked at the empty street. I felt a little fear in my heart, and I never seemed to go back to look for it.

Let it go, and then build another one. Who can successfully complete this life path?