“Careful!” she heard.
“What!? No!” she seemed hurt. “Not all fabrics feel the same on your skin.“
Wide-eyed, the former, stared at her. What was being said was strangely beautiful and unheard of in his slow circles.
“Not all waters quench your thirst quite the same.“
His eyes wider than before, hoped to acquire a vagabond ‘l’ drifting with the cool gusts of wind from the mountains, to shove it in between the perfect relationship of ‘w’, ‘i’, ‘d’, ‘e’, and ‘r’ in ‘wider’ and turn it into ‘wilder’… into something wilder… so his eyes could be wilder than before… and he’d see how not all fabrics feel the same on your skin and how not all waters quench your thirst quite the same.
“There’s an ‘el’ in autumn’s knell.” she offered.
“Yes, Bless you… and certainly bless ‘l’… and most certainly bless the autumn knell!” Excited he ran to chase the ‘l’. “I hear a solemn bell!” she heard him yell.
It’s been a long long time. He’s old now but his eyes shine wilder than ever before, even more than the girl he would always adore, for she had told him: “Not all fabrics feel the same on your skin.”
An old lady walks by his rocking chair, smiles at his punk blue hair. “Old man winter, dear how his eyes shine wilder every passing year.“
Story Of The Footloose 