I was dreaming and dreaming, and you were in my dreams. 
I should have written them down, for now, later in the day some of them have faded quite a bit from memory. 
But I have enough to share with you. These were wonderful, wistful dreams. 

"It's the last one." The street was enveloped in the ambience before dawn, before the sun fully opens up. 
The dawn of a 3AM when we had just arrived from a long flight. We had been travelling for a while. 
And now I get the chance to see where you live. I was excited, short of breath and felt a certain familiarity. As if I had been here before. 

I have been here before. The last house, sitting at the foot of the hill, with a grove of trees and a garden. 
The morning began to wake up with the chirping of little birds. In my dream, in a dream I had walked the short path to the main door.
You took my hand and led me inside. Your parents were in the study, and we surprised them with flowers and wine. 

Another dream was with you once more, but memory escapes me. An even earlier one: We were in the hansom, you were pointing out to me your favorite places. Your bookstore, the bakery, the lady who sold flowers. They waved hello back, we were all awash in smiles. Your room was brightly-lit with the sun shining at full strength. The whiteness of your sheets, the bold darkness of your desk, distinct features of your bed and the sketches on your walls. 
The quiet look of amusement on your face, amazement on mine. As we fall into a long, deep kiss. 

"Cmon you guys, everybody's Waiting!" 
Everybody was downstairs already, getting impatient. A little girl in a pretty dress was sent to get us. She must've ran all the way through, her cheeks flushed red and her cute button nose. We jumped up from bed laughing, a joke only the two of us knew. Punch-drunk and clowning around we spin into a dance and the faint strain of harpstring or yang-chin accompanying a crystal voice could be heard wafting from the courtyard. 

Both our families were getting only slightly impatient, with my smallest cousins playing with the pooka emissaries. 
There were squirrels, birds, a raccoon in a suit, several dog-boys and a Noble stag attended by several rabbits and a butler turtle. 
A bit off the banks of the river was a trio of dolphins racing and calling out to play. 

Gently the piano whispered. 
The wind picked up slightly, shaking the chimes into a little medley. 
A fairy or two flitted past, showering the entourage with pixie fluff. 
The procession started. The first day of the rest of our lives had begun. 

And then I woke up. And it was all you. All over and again.

... The day continues. Herein my name is sigil.