Glancing at the door, most wouldn’t notice the small gap where the wood has separated from the dry conditions; they aren’t as observant as me. No, they are stuck with seeing just the fun parts, but truth be told, they miss those, too. Not a detail of the world misses my scrutiny.
This peephole gives me a clear view of everything on the other side without having to enter to investigate the sheer drapes billowing in the forceful breeze piercing through the partially open window, or the bright and clear light, highlighting dust motes.
Not only do I see the details, my sense of smell enlightens and adds another dimension. Something delectable beckons to me from inside. I am entranced by the delicate and subtle, yet strong and forceful aroma. I press closer to the door, searching the room, swiveling my eyes quickly, taking in everything there is; a bed, a lamp, a chair, a table, and pictures on the wall don’t tease me the way this fragrance does.
My focus zooms to the floor and the temptress of my dreams delight. Crimson drips from a crushed skull pool around pale skin and flaxen hair, aging, strengthening the aroma. I don’t worry if others have arrived ahead of me to this feast, there is always more than enough for all. Though the gap gives me a visual of the room, it is not large enough for my entry, but below me, near the floor is a clear passage to nirvana.