because of insomnia, you often went to meet the dawns in the field.one day, you were walking through the dew-wet grass again.the fog enveloped the sky, slowly crumbling before your eyes.in the distance you saw the silhouette of a man.he was picking a bouquet of wildflowers and muttering softly to himself. -what are you doing here?-you asked, coming closer to the guy with pitch-black eyes shining from the morning sun.