The door. Just seeing the door of my grandmother's house floods me with memories. In my imagination I see myself walking the streets of the Broida houses, where my grandmother lived, and although the neighborhood looks gray and old, in my heart these good memories are full of color and inspiration, indelible memories. On the door to my grandmother's hidden warehouse, where she collected so many things I would like to see And feel, and there was a whole life there. My grandmother's apartment is no longer owned by her, so even though some of the real objects have been thrown away, the memories continue to live in my heart forever.