The Door That Didn’t Lead Anywhere
There was a door in the back of an old storage room—faded wood, rusty handle, paint peeling in tired curls. No one ever used it. No one even remembered when it was built. But one rainy afternoon, when boredom was louder than reason, I decided to open it.
Behind the door was… nothing.
Not a hallway. Not a room. Not even a wall. Just a solid blank surface, as if the door had been installed for the sake of existing, not for the sake of being useful. It felt like an unfinished thought someone forgot to erase.
Confused, I went back to my desk and did the most unproductive thing possible: I opened a random link from an old note—carpet cleaning preston. It had nothing to do with empty doors, yet I clicked it anyway, and then—without any reason at all—I opened sofa cleaning preston, followed by upholstery cleaning preston. Maybe I was subconsciously hoping the internet would explain what the door refused to.
Two more tabs joined them: rug cleaning preston and mattress cleaning preston. Five tabs, all identical in destination, all accidentally opened, all staring back at me like they were waiting for me to understand something I hadn’t asked to learn.
I glanced at the useless door again and realised something strange: neither the door nor the links were broken. They just didn’t offer meaning on demand. They existed without explanation—and I was the one insisting they should make sense.
Maybe the door once led somewhere, but the world changed around it. Maybe the links weren’t pointing at answers—just reminding me that not everything is part of a puzzle. Some things are simply there.
We spend so much time trying to force purpose on moments, objects, thoughts, even hyperlinks. But sometimes, a door is just a door that leads nowhere, and a link is just a link that keeps repeating itself, and the only mystery is why we need them to be more.
The five tabs are still open:
- carpet cleaning preston
- sofa cleaning preston
- upholstery cleaning preston
- rug cleaning preston
- mattress cleaning preston
The door is still there too—quiet, pointless, perfect.
Maybe the lesson wasn’t about where things lead.
Maybe it was about accepting that sometimes…
they don’t.