He suddenly realized, he'd been asleep a very long time.
"Wake up." His natural internal dialog barked in response. It wasn't going to be so simple, a pinch or reality test would not suffice he quickly realized. The truth of it was, he'd been asleep so long that this was reality, he wasn't asleep anymore, he had become the dream character.
Now one would stop and think; "logically, I just resume my actions, and eventually I will return to my waking life." What if things had grown so abstract however, that you were forced to question the very fabric of what you had just a moment before, accepted as reality? When reality stops being real, what are we left with?
"Wake up." He once again told himself, force of habit, not really putting power behind the idea. A small shift in the periphery of his vision, a glitch he thought; something he could expose to escape. Further investigation actually led him to notice what once seemed solid and logical... All around him, was now fluid-like, and resisted to sit still. The familiarity of it all washed over him, how nonsensical things he had accepted yesterday were so obviously mental faculty, his mind was working overtime, to make the world he now inhabited. "Wait!", he thought,"How long have I been asleep? Has time passed differently because my mind can move faster than reality allows?" Which, sadly led to more questions, each more profound and slightly more horrific in nature. His chest tightened, as the air thickened and the light in the room, dimmed. Everything grew a bit smaller as he asked: "Have the relationships I've grown so accustomed to even been real?" Suddenly when he thought of her, her face was blurry in his mind. "This is natural." he took a deep breath, the room seemed to sense a shift as light grew a bit warmer. "I'm only struggling with this, because I'm over-thinking it... Of course I know her face." To reassure himself, he reached in his pocket, he withdrew his phone. You can always rely on technology, to remember things you may struggle with... Right? It felt empty in his hand, almost as if it's capacity to hold information was determined by it's physical weight. Then he noticed something that disturbed him. "This isn't my model of phone, is it? This is what I was using a few years ago. How would this even get in my pocket?"
Suddenly his reliance on technology shifted, "Of course I can't depend on this... If it's in my dream it's part of me, just a symbol; an idea of what was in my pocket." His realization however did not hasten his resolve to continue forward. He opened the device, which now did actually seem like his phone, the time was wrong... "Or have I lost this much familiarity with the outside world?" He pushed on, forgiving the odd time display. There, finally a picture of her, just as he remembers her. Encoded in 1's and 0's an answer to his base question. "Of course she's real, and here is solid proof!" His deliberate verbal confirmation did little to ease what he knew however... Even as he quickly shut the screen off, the manner in which it lagged simply did not feel mechanical. The image almost bled to the corner as he shoved it back in his pocket. "Pockets, a mans portable identity. Pockets, what else do we have? As he rummaged he could almost feel keys, and change, though as he grasped the pockets seemed much larger than he'd anticipated. Everything seemed to slip through his fingers, a recycling of what he expected to feel, cold, almost familiar objects, but not what he was looking for... "Wait... What am I looking for?" the room grew dim, once again in response to his emotion. A sinking feeling of lost washed over him. He stumbled a few steps, meaningless really, and thought: "My wallet! Back pocket. Always there, always help define." Even as ge reached back, and submerged his hand once again, his eyes gazed at the painting on the wall.
His face was wet. Had he just fallen? The rain was slowing as he gained his composure. The street was silent, the sky a dull gray, an endless cloud of moisture. Reflections of the lights danced on the street. "Wait, what street is this?" The street lights seemed to flicker the answer. "Oh of course! I use this road almost everyday, so familiar I hardly even give it a thought... Right there is.... Well, it doesn't matter, I know where I am." He thought it odd that he was walking, when he usually drove. Given the time of day, maybe he'd a couple too many and decided not to drive. "Only a couple blocks that way and I'll be home." He sped up his pace, with confidence, the last few hours may have been confusing, but it didn't matter now.
Faint car horns and muffled engine sounds reflected off the cold, slick pavement. Such a funny time of day, it can almost be difficult to know whether the suns rising, or just set.
He dropped the pencil on table as his body shook. "Damn, dozing off again, I need to get this done..." As he reached to scoop the pencil before it reached the edge, he felt an urgency, but for what again? Something he needed to finish... Or remember?
He looked at his scribbles on the paper, an obvious draft, half pictures and jotted words. He appreciated how under the incandescent yellowish light, the shades and shapes almost formed a layer above the paper, rather than resting on it. He adjusted his glasses, that seemed to help focus. It was her picture, a crude version of the one in his phone, scribbled off to the left, a simple, "wake up."

He sat up in bed quickly, and gasped, the air hot on his face. "What's wrong?" Asked a detached voice, coming from beside him. "Oh God, of course! Brilliant" He thought, a small grin draped across his cheeks. He muttered a simple,"Nothing babe, just a screwed up dream." He turned half-way to press against her, he reached for her hand. Nothing, a cold pillow sat beside him, a hint of her fragrance lingered.
Wake up.