Some nights, I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue, feeling the wind delicately brushing past me, making the leaves dance and the grass tickle my bare skin.

Some nights, I count the fireflies that illuminate the forest, taking flight to and fro, their flickering bodies mimicking that of fairies.

Some nights, I look up to the stars for guidence, hoping to find direction in my own life, admiring their beauty like a celestial compass written in the sky.

Some nights, I find myself staring at the moon, its vastness beckoning me, so ethereal and bright. I begin to realize just how small I am in this world.

Some nights, I close my eyes, drowning out everything but the sound of the crickets, nature’s sweet serenade.

Some nights, I run barefoot through the tall grass, past the houses whose lights have been turned off, signaling the end of another day.

I run down the peaceful, lighted alleyways, my feet hitting the smooth cobblestone, through a village painted in white and blue.

I run past an endless stream of flowers as they hang from the pristine Cycladic architecture, their petals open, greeting residents and tourists alike.

I run past groups of happy civillians, their laughter and chatter echoing into the air, giving life to this serene paradise.

I run until my feet hit the cool sand, where the land meets the sea. Some nights, it feels like heaven on Earth, and I revel in the stillness, letting it wrap around me like a blanket.

And yet, some nights, I don’t make it to the forest to listen to the trees.

Some nights, I try grasping for fireflies, but they seem just out of reach.

I have nights where the village is empty, the residents nowhere to be seen. There are times when I can’t feel the sand on my feet.

There are nights that I wake up to a bustling city, longing for the gentle lull of the sea.

Most nights, I wish it wasn’t such a distant dream.