Waking up with a stomach full of grief

 I had a dream this morning, the last one before I woke up, maybe around 6 am.

I dreamt that I flew to Europe to meet up with you. I was so happy to see you, it had been so long. You were happy, too.

We went to a market of sorts, an indoor market that you might be more likely to find in Asia. Maybe like the silk market in Beijing, but not as well lit.

You found a pair of jeans you liked, and asked me to buy them for you. I agreed, and when the guy rung them up at the register, the credit card machine said €1,534.41. I was shocked, and saddened that you weren't. I paid, because that's what you wanted.

We got into a little bit of an argument, and we had to walk away.

I came to find you, and you told me that you hated me. Two things happened simultaneously: the bottom dropped out of my stomach, and the hole was filled with dirty gravel.

I had to tell you that if you didn't mean it, you should apologize.

You apologized, but I had to tell you.

I woke up heartbroken.