A door,a woman,a woman in white.                A pen, a man, facing the wall.                          In the bake of me,the woman stand and look at me with a sad light.                                        But she knows nothing about my existence.  The man stretchs out his hand to me.              But doesn't look at me.                                      There is a deep thought in his eyes.                Every day,everyday likes this.                          One day,an old man find me with a shocking face.                                                                      I heard what he said,                                          “oh,a picture in wall, looks like a real door.”    Day in and day out...                                        My face was pale and integrated with the white wall.                                                              No the man,no the woman.                              I get white just like the wall.–                            On a green  grave yard,a woman in white.    Standing and looking at a tombstone.            There is a picture,a man  grabs a pen.            I've never been opened when I was existent.