"Wait," she called after him. "Maybe you can come back tomorrow."

And then I woke up.

I hate abrupt awakenings. But I guess it fell at the right culmination of the story arc.

And I enjoyed the whole action sequence that took place prior to this scene. Especially the part where the comb becomes a forest, the mirror, a lake and the handkerchief, a field of flowers.

And its funny how dreams work. The entire dream sequence was a seamless blend of images and narration.

One day I will sit in a quiet corner and write the entire tale down. A story that has been told before and retold again. A reworking of an ancient vision. Dreams have a shamanistic quality about them. A fount of inspiration that draws its power from the liminal state of waking and sleeping.The English Patient was based on an image Michael Ondaatje had in a dream. A man, covered in flames, falling like Lucifer in Milton's Paradise Lost.

I hope I will be able to do it. But I wonder if my flair for purple prose will run away with me and I create a monstrosity of sheer awkwardness that do the tale little credit.

Although the whole idea is tempting. But it is probably an over-ambitious and conceited undertaking.