Perspective of a Semi-Colon

I dreamed I was sitting on the ground in a grassy field. I was underneath a large oak tree and it covered me with shade. Next to me was a woman in a chair. I was sitting at her feet. There was something happening a ways off. I was aware in passing of this. There was a war going on and it was close but I was not concerned of this. I kept an eye on the trees in the distance however, just in case I needed to act to protect the woman sitting beside me. We were a team, I knew this at my core, and I would do anything to keep her safe. That was my role, to aggressively rush any threat even at the expense of my own life. I felt vaguely like a slave to that end. Mostly though, I felt safe. Like I was under her protection and that it would do no good to doubt that, that the only rational choice was to trust her and hope for the best. 

I looked up at her and she was scanning t the trees as well, watching for signs of threats, same as I was seconds before. I touched her leg and ran a finger from her knee down to her foot. I scooted closer and nuzzled her calve and in the back of my mind I noted that her skin was cool and dry. The background of my mind was wondering about her circulation and how to improve it while the front of my mind was completely tactile, just focused on absorbing sensation. Her skin was smooth with the slightest scent of strawberries, the way they are right after you pick them. When I looked up at her she was looking at me and then her face widened and dimpled as she smiled. I smiled back. It was a true smile, the sort that when they happen I almost always look down for. It made the sides of my face ache and I knew then that I loved her. No. Worshipped her and what she represented. There was a thunder in my heart. 

I woke up smoothly. Just opened my eyes and there the wall was, standing in front of me. I expected it. One second I was dreaming and then I thought, I’m going to wake up now and I did. I put on a pair of pants and walked downstairs. I was thinking about perspective. About how perspective was everything. I remembered a scene from Dead Poet’s Society where the teacher had his students standing on their desk to give them a new perspective on life, a strange perspective, yet familiar. My dream had a strange perspective, too. There was something pervasively odd about it but I couldn’t latch onto it, at least not enough to be able to put words to it. After I made my morning hot chocolate I laid down on the kitchen floor with my mug balanced on my chest. For perspective. I wanted the see things from a new angle and how better than to put yourself in that kind of situation? 

The room was familiar. I mean of course I knew it, it was my kitchen and had been for years. But none of it was recognizable. It was different, the cabinets and stove towered above me and their lines stretched much longer than I remembered. The floor was cool, too. Cooler than I’m used to it being. Was it always this way? The floor was dirty too and I could feel bits of lord-knows-what poking to my back. I hoped it was just a piece of plastic or packaging. I made a mental not to brush myself off (and to sweep) after I got up. The air felt different too, a little mustier, more stale. The sensations and the implications of all the things around me were different, though familiar. It didn’t help me figure out what words fit the dream, though. So I got up brushed myself off and went about my day.