Hypnopompic

I take my first breath after the transition. The air tastes foreign. Exhaled carbon dioxide flows out of my lungs, dissolving in the air like ink in water. Alien, infused with different probabilities. I get my bearings, desperately clinging to the feeling of disorientation, but the neocortex is merciless. Attuning itself, and myself, to reality. Hacking away at the grogginess. The last strands of those otherworldly perceptions dissipate despite my protest. Leaving a faint patina on the sieve of memory. Already completely exposed to the blaring, stolid realities of this dimension. I am awake.

My dreams have returned.