What fascinates me about doors?

What attracts us to photograph doors--particularly old doors in various parts of the world? So many of us seem to be drawn to this subject (see my own collection--more to come--as well as my collection of exquisite DA favorites). Mark (Red-Camera) and I have been having an interesting exchange about this, and he was wondering whether those of us pulled to this subject were more left-brained because we were attracted to the order, linearity and structure.

I love seeing the order and structure and geometry of human composition (and of nature), yet I am ultimately a person fascinated by culture and humanity and art and subjective expressions of those innermost feelings and beliefs... I am very much a "right-brain" dominant person when it comes to needing the big picture, the intuitive (in Jungian terms) symbolic, and so on--an INFP in Myers Briggs terms.

So I think that I'm especially drawn to "found" elements of order rather than so much feeling the need to impose order. And what fascinates me most about the doors and windows and architectural features I photograph would be the antiquity, the living history, reflected in them.

Brand new doors don't fascinate me at all. It's the peeling paint, the crumbling plaster, the multiple layers of color reflecting numerous generations of aesthetically-minded caretakers... as well as the idea of all those generations or even centuries of people who have passed by or through these portals and whose lives have somehow left their visible or invisible marks or remnants in that space.

A scratch from moving a piece of 20th century furniture; a scar from an ancient swordfight; the invisible imprint of a woman pressed against the door in an embrace by her lover leaving for war in yet another century; children running happily back and forth across the threshhold; families closing the door behind them in tragic sorrow when being forcibly dispossessed; bullet holes or gouges from bombing shrapnel; holes from having posters, notices and wreaths tacked upon them; hinges slightly askew from forced entry; the invisible layers of celebratory joy from street festivals....

...this is the way my mind works when I see these images.

If these doors could only speak, what stories could they tell us?