It couldn't have been me.

See, the direction the spackle protrudes.

A noisy neighbor? An angry boyfriend? I'll never know. I wasn't home.

I peer inside for a clue.

No! I can't see. I reel, blind, like a film left out in the sun.

But it's too late. My retinas.

Already scorched with a permanent copy of the meaningless image.

It's just a little hole. It wasn't too bright.

It was too deep.

Stretching forever into everything.

A hole of infinite choices.

I realize now, that I wasn't looking in.

I was looking out.

And he, on the other side, was looking in.