No matter how much glass is in front of my face, it’s all still so unfocused. I’m an unframed, unglassed pair of eyes walking around a bunch of blobs. How many leaves are on that tree? Who knows?
But light, that’s the true wonder. Small orbs of light that float in front of my face, like magic, like their own suns without galaxies to compliment them.
Luckily, they have me.
I watch them for hours before leaving, sitting on splintering wood to the strange looks of blobs around me, because sometimes I leave my glasses at home on purpose.