You are currently dreaming (a beautiful, strange dream). You stood outside of the oh-so familiar gates of Strawberry Fields, and though it was slightly different due to the haziness of a typical dream, it was still the same Strawberry Fields you knew, and had grown an undying love for, throughout earlier years.

You walked through the gates, which were lined with flowers (that weren’t typically there, though they were beautiful), and paused slightly when you heard a familiar voice. It was Paul. You knew that voice by heart. You could see his back against a tree that wasn’t too far ahead of you, and you walked towards him. There were children running around idly, but they didn’t seem to see you — or pay you any attention, rather.

He was sitting peacefully beneath the tree, surrounded by flowers, with a beautiful flower in his hair. The sight took you by surprise, however, when he turned to look at you. This wasn’t young Paul — whom you often associated with Strawberry Fields, considering you’d practically grown up here together — this was current Paul, Your Paul. 1967 Paul.

He looked up to meet your gaze, his eyes soft, and familiarly warm. He shifted to pluck a flower beside him, almost identical to the one adorning his raven-coloured hair, and held it out to you.