On perfection

I can't remember the last time before today where I woke up reaching for a dream. Not just a great dream, but one of actual perfection. The notion of waking up not just content, but fulfilled as well is somewhat of a foreign concept to me, as my subconscious loves to veer towards the malicious. Is it perhaps malicious in a new way, as it leaves me with this odd longing to return? Maybe mocking me, as if life could ever be that perfect, with all the pieces falling into place? It's hard to tell. Maybe it's best just to savor something so ideal, regardless of its intent.