Like a child's stargazing at brown cookies, sparkling with snowy sugars, through the magical looking glass of a jar. Some evenings, more often these days, he craves for intimacy, and comfort, in the voice and by the side of a familiar someone.
The couples on the street cuddle with whispery sweetness, and he imagines the warmth, the love tingling the skin. The ferocious wind beats a crestfallen figure, his eyes averting, refusing defeat.
P.S.: The eyes are like a looking glass, mirroring the heart's desires.