Watch Catherine read the poem (YouTube video):
Not all doors are as humble as wood. They can be made with ink and paper; late nights and stronger coffee; a password
and a webcam; another hand holding yours in the place it is meant to be. A door can be a book: a tree finding itself again. A door can be a phone
call, or a party or a really good cry. It’s surprising what one day can unlock. At night, joy will creep its fingers under the threshold if you let it.
Those you love will post you letters from the other side of the world. What you find when you open it is yours.
So here’s to your doors, whether they started with a new tab or a moving box, it was your hands that opened them.