Morning has broken

Last night I dreamt that I somehow managed to get into N’s plane, mid flight (that would be my amazing wing-walking abilities, I’m guessing). No one looked particularly surprised to see me open the emergency door and get in. N had managed to get a window seat, and we sat and looked out of the window together. As the plane descended, it was all so beautiful. It was sunset, and we could see boats and beaches and the sun reflected in the water, as the plane was flying so low. N held me and I just kept saying, “it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful”. I realised that I didn’t have a ticket or my passport, so I said I would stay on the plane while it flew back, but then I remembered that it wasn’t the Tube or a Ryanair flight, and it wouldn’t be going back straight away. I wasn’t really bothered, and I told N that I loved Singapore and that I’d missed him. The plane landed, and started taxiing to the terminal. I was very excited but then a jolt went through my body far greater than the force of a passenger jet landing, and I was awake, and in London, and without N. I could still feel his arms around me.