In dreams I always come back here. The field lies in the morning light, still and endless, as if it never knew a border. The mist lifts slowly, and from the grey rises the gold, soft, glowing, familiar. I walk barefoot, the grass cool on my ankles, the hum of insects like distant music. Everything feels so close that I almost forget it isn’t real.
Maybe Aurelia was never a place. Maybe it was a state of being – a golden moment between waking and dreaming, when the world holds its breath. I remember the laughter, the light, the feeling that anything was possible. And when I wake, for a second the taste of sunlight stays on my skin, as if the field had truly touched me.
