You never make it to the end of the field. The edge of the world. The top of the mountain. You only get there in your dreams. The dreams that make you wonder and sway. The hopes that carry you forward while the sun is your guard. These things only happen in fairy tales in faraway lands. My faraway land is where the sky is as bright and blue as it will ever be while the marigolds and daisies pop up in every which way. I’ve only been there once, and that was when I was slumbering along, pillow crease tucked along my ear, cold ends of my legs intertwined with fleece. It was perfect. When I looked over my shoulder I saw the mountains, lined with rich colored buildings that flooded the overgrown hills, where giddy little boys and girls play hopscotch on the pebbled pathway and all you hear is the silent murmur of appreciation for their lovely village. Yes, the bicycle chimes are heard all through the town, the elderly sit on their dusty yellow balconies and wave at the handsome young adults that go door to door selling frosted French biscuits and powdered dough, freshly baked. But my eyes are sold to the hollow streaming glint of light through the window, pouring onto my now basking face, though my mind keeps wondering through wherever this magnificent place might exists. The day must go on- sadly- So I non-gracefully repel my sore calf’s out from under my comfort zone, hearing their creeks and grumbles of unappreciation. The nude camisole that fully enclosed my rigid body the night before was now somewhat twisted into an uncomfortable array of creases that expose half of my abdomen. I let lose my knotted bun, that has slipped to the side of my framed head, creating a somewhat chain reaction of me muttering curse words under my breath for not having showered last night. It tumbles down, like the rain rolling off a cliff, gliding smoothly into the unknown, until it reaches just below my shoulder blades. The best part about waking up though- is that you never know what might happen in the day ahead of you. You might make it to the end of the field. The edge of the world. The top of the mountain. Maybe today is the day where your dreams of that tiny hillside come to life, and you begin to live it. And when you erode into a deep sleep again, you imagine a different world, much more perfect than this land. A never-ending cycle of wishing and worrying, of hoping and hoaxing, of creating and crumbling. These are the moments that define how we look at life. Whether the glass is half empty or half full is up to us and our beautiful beings. So with that, I curve my chapped lips into a smile, and continue on with what may be the day everything begins.