Dreaming still

During the night, I slept, as most people on this Earth tend to do.
Unfortunately some don't, but here, I am concentrating on the dream I dreamt.

I woke up at 7, with my alarm going off, but I wanted to find a dream I could remember, so turned it off.

There I was, still lost in France. Alone. But with others. It still has made no sense. I was sat in a classroom, one I didn't recognise, one I hadn't been in. It was odd. Nothing seemed right. The tables were all too close together, the room was too long and thin. My arm was rubbing against the minty green wall. A colour I dispice to be a room colour. I turned to my left, where there was someone sat next to me. But they didn't look familiar. I looked at them longer, trying to get them to notice me, but not be rude and nudge them. And so I found myself lost, again. I looked around, trying to find someone I recognised, but there was no one. No English with me this time. No one was in the room. And so, as per usual, the dream was fast, a very quick 10 second dream. But in the last few seconds, whilst I looked forward during the lesson, I noticed Francois. I whispered his name, and the wind carried the sound. He turned, and smiled at me. That beautiful smile.


And that was bloody it. :( Dad had come in, and was asking me to get up. It was 7 30. "Fuck" I said. Dad gave me the look of "Sorry I woke you.. haha". I wasn't cursing him. I wasn't cursing the time.
I was cursing my whereabouts. I was back home. I was not in my dreams. I was in England, with only a few close people with me, when I wanted a particular one. Of course, I don't know if he still likes me. Which sucks like a major penis.