We've met before. You don't remember, so let me help you:
It was a dream, something about dragons, finally flying for the first time, and I was the woman standing off to the side watching you to make sure you did not fall, removing any anxiety you might have had, being so high up.
No?
A nightmare, then. You had been buried alive; you were waiting for someone to hear you and rescue you. I was in the graveyard; I heard you, and I alerted the groundskeeper. When he pulled you out, I threw a blanket over your shoulders.
But I've never dreamed that, you say.
You have. You simply don't remember.
Fine, then: the mundane dream. You got up and got ready for work, pulled on your clothes, made coffee or tea and ate your breakfast, or else simply grabbed something on the way in. I was someone you saw in traffic, sitting in another car or perhaps on a bus, staring out the window and daydreaming. You didn't notice me, but I noticed you. I called to you,
wake up, you're going to be late, and that's when your alarm went off, or the dog barked, or the cat pawed gently at your face and woke you, cursing, and sent you stumbling out of bed and into your morning routine.
If you didn't drive, if you walked or biked or took public transit, I still saw you.
I was there.
Who am I? That's not important.
You'll remember when you need to.
me_sonrei