Dear Dazai,

I’m waiting on my car to be repaired and winding down from an unexpected weekend. A weekend which was awesome but not in ways that I had thought they would be.

Apart from the tea festival, which provided me with some new teas to add to my collection. I’m very excited about them, especially the ones from Ms. Cattea, which were glorious in every way.

Having said that, I was too worn out and buzzed last night to post anything and I’ll have something more meaningful to post on Thursday but for now, please sit back, relax, have a cup of tea and enjoy this story.

There is a door. Neither obvious, nor important. People pass by it every day. Their lives, too busy. Too important. The door does not warrant a second glance. Nor should it.

The door is not important. It is ordinary. It has always been ordinary. Yet there were whispers. That the door was ordinary, purposefully. That you walked passed it, intentionally. Your eye drawn away from it. For the door was there to be ignored.

Unless perhaps you were looking for it.

There are people. People, who go looking for that door. They never say why. There is no talk about what they hope to find there. Or whispers about what that did find.

Pablo did not like the door. He found it too harsh. Too dark. Too obscure. His unanswered questions aggravated him. The dismissals sent his way, continually unwelcome.

He thought the questions were reasonable. The door was mysterious. The door no one ever entered. In all his years, standing vigil over that door. Leaning out his window to the ground below. Never once had he seen anyone enter or leave the place.

When Pablo turned seven, his curiosity piqued, he snuck out to the door. The streets were cold and wet and the opposite side seemed such a length aways. His toes curled against the frigid stone beneath them. He thought perhaps that he was making a mistake. That perhaps no one ever entered the door because they shouldn’t.

Yet, he was seven. He was courageous. He needed to know what was behind that door. So steeling himself against the cold (not the fear that crept up along his spine). He walked across the road.

In the dark, the door was sinister. It was too dark, absorbing the light of the street surrounding it. Still Pablo was brave (as brave as only a seven year old can be). So he knocked.

The sound echoed through the street. Bouncing off the stone of the buildings around him and the pavement beneath him. The sound chilling, hardened by the winter night.

Still Pablo stayed. He waited for someone to open the door. He waited. Such a long time. Until finally, the door opened.

Pablo had many expectations. Most fantastical, some whimsical and others quite terrifying. The expectations of so much, from someone who yet to be disillusioned by a lifetime of lost potential and regret. Pablo had not expected this.

She was exquisite. Beautiful. Winsome. Divine. A whole list of synonyms that Pablo was sure he didn’t know. Her dark blue eyes, bright and friendly. Her mouth curled into a Mona Lisa smile. Pablo would later remember her having golden hair. Straight. Hair that moved gently across her neck in the cold winter’s air.

‘Hello Pablo.’

Pablo did not think to question how she knew his name. All Pablo could think was, why no one ever came to this door, if this was what awaited them. No person this beautiful would ever be alone.

‘I’m afraid you’re a little early,’ she spoke.

Pablo did not know what to say. He remained transfixed by the woman in front of him. He may only be seven but he knew without a doubt that he was in love. Despite what grownups may believe, seven year olds know about love. Love, at seven, is pure and untarnished. It has no expectations or demands. It only is.

‘You should come back later,’ she continued.

She turned back, ready to close the door, when Pablo found his voice.


Facing Pablo again, she smiled that smile. The one that reminded Pablo that she was well aware she knew something that he didn’t. He should have not liked that smile, but it was so magnificent, he couldn’t bring himself to.

‘You’ll know when,’ she stated, confidently.

‘How?’ he asked.

She lent down and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Pablo blushed bright red as she pulled away, yet if she noticed, she never mentioned it. As for a seven year old, dignity is an important thing. More important than many other things in the life of a seven year old.

‘You’ll know,’ she said, smiling.

With those words, she stepped back behind the door and closed it. Pablo, warmed himself as he made his way back to the small apartment he lived in. The one across the road from the door. Pablo, quietly snuck back to his bed. Sparing, only, a quick glance, at the door.


The door was still there, unchanged, people still ignored it as they walked past.

As he stood before it, even many years later Pablo’s heart fluttered as he raised his hand to knock. He knew that this was the right time. That all these years had past for this moment.

She opened the door, unchanged. There had been no years etched onto her face. Her long hair spun gold and those blue eyes, the colour of sapphires.

‘Hello Pablo.’

He did not need to ask this time. He simply walked in.

Time was lost and when he walked out, he felt like a new man. As if the worries that had burdened him were now dissipated, evaporated as if they had never existed.

‘Are you not going to ask for a kiss this time?’ she asked, smile on her face.

‘No, I don’t need that.’

‘Goodbye Pablo.’

He nodded, tipped his hat and walked off down the street.

The smile dropped from her face, as a tear rolled down her cheek.


Pablo’s daughter found him the next morning. Still and cold, with a smile on his face.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.