No Cover, No Title, No Author

"The Door" is an experimental prose poem about breathing, farewell and reunion. The whole book uses "the very short pause after exhalation" as the core image, and constructs a life ritual that everyone can enter through the five rounds of breathing progression through five doors - the mother's closed door, the friend's walking back, the wave from the car window, the father's last breath, and himself in the mirror who stopped breathing. The second person "you" is used throughout the work, and the language is extremely simple and descriptive, without any psychological description or emotional evaluation. Every "you exhale. Not inhale." Is a small farewell, and every "pause" is a reunion with all the past. When readers read, their bodies will unconsciously follow the breathing rhythm of the text, filling in their own farewell memories in the pause after each exhalation. The whole book is written from the time when I couldn't reach the doorknob when I was three years old, to when I exhaled when I looked in the mirror for the last time when I was eighty years old. Five doors open at the same time in "that pause" - farewell is not some moments in life, farewell is every breath. The door never closes because you never come in; you never leave because you are always in that pause. This is a life-breathing book that a six-year-old can read and a sixty-year-old can cry. It does not tell a story, but invites readers to complete a breathing ritual for themselves while reading - after reading the last page, close the book, and in the pause after the next exhalation, the book is still there. That pause is your only life.