"Some people are able to look at everything with desire," said a voice behind me. Inside me.
Yes, I understand, I smiled back. Meaning that I was one of those people who could appreciate beauty, desire beauty, ualize and fetishize beauty, but also find beauty in everything. And that made me special.
I continued to examine the staircases from my perch at the bottom. My view was slightly blocked and the architecture was askew anyway, so if I tilted my head a bit I'd see a slightly different view of the stained glass windows, the staircases and clever crevices, and the little girl throwing things down the stairs.
What I especially admired were the banisters, which looked like ornately carved oak, but when I got up to touch them after that statement was made I saw, then felt, that they were made of tin. Painted brown, and peeling back, eroded and full of sharp edges in spots, including what fascinated me most - the crewels. The paint worn down with time and touches, a pheasant's head shone up at me. I stroked it and felt how sensual, how beautiful it was. Then it turned into more of a duck shape, and parts of the metal disappeared to be replaced by a few ancient scraps of feathers at the tail; I could imagine the splendour it once must have been as a mixed-media object so I kept smiling, touching and loving it, and as I did, it turned into a live duck and jumped off its perch, splashing into a fountain beside it.
