I had this dream of you and me sitting on a bench made of sand.
The sand was gold and the ocean in front of us had the measure of a lake, a puddle, a glass of water.
Clean as your eyes, clear as your thoughts, limpid as your voice.
I had a dream where me and you were swimming on the sand, flying in the water, walking through the air.
I had this dream that we were looking at the mountains in front of us, crossing a volcano; the lava was freezing and the snow was burning.
I dreamt that you were hit by a light as the sun was setting down over the horizon. The brightness of your eyes would lit the world around us, while me, nothing but one of the many stars looking at the show you were putting on stage, couldn’t move, stunned by your beauty.
I would wait for the moment in which you would take a glance at me a slowly whisper:
“Here it is, your golden hour”.