Behind the closed door,
was her tiny garden,
where bloomed the rare weeds,
wild and strong.
Behind the closed door,
was the majestic web,
the web of all possibilities,
that she had spun when she was a kid.
Behind the closed door,
was her castle of card,
which still stood frozen and tall,
while the wind swirled strong.
Behind the closed door,
was the forgotten grave,
grave of her silly dreams,
guitar strings and torn paper kites.
Behind the closed door,
was a world too large,
and the tiny girl,
who still lived but inside her heart.
Now that she had grown so tall,
the tiny door was too small,
for her to peep and pass,
so the closed door rusted and thawed.
~Mayuri Srivastava~
My Diary 
Very intriguing story.
Thank you Sadje.
You’re welcome Mayuri