Only Segments

I remember only segments of the dream, but it's enough.
We were walking down a city street. It was nightfall. We were arguing about something, but already I felt defeated. At once there was a huge, dark, wooden structure with a windmill before us. I gasped at it's presentation. It was of the aesthetic I favored. But quickly I turned on it, and became annoyed when you wanted to go inside. It had changed now. Suddenly it was modern in presentation, with a black metal clock ticking on it's forward face. Something you'd see at a strip mall back in the States. And there were lines sectioned and a glass admission booth at the top of its steps. You bounded away for them, and I let out an exasperated remark (I know not what) before following. Inside was empty. The escalator hall looked like an airport at midday, but without people anywhere. There were no others. You jumped up onto an escalator climbing upward. I struggled after you, on an escalator adjacent but bound for the same direction. I was on my knees - so frustrated. I yowled and punched the near-mirror-finish of the metal siding. It warped my reflection grotesquely, and I regretted it immediately. Then I was running to keep up with you as ran down a hotel hall. I was calling out for you to just slow down. I wanted to talk to you. But you were babbling, saying nothing, as loud as you could, and plugging your ears with your fingers so as not to hear me as you skipped ahead.

It's much easier to understand now that I've read it in my own words.
I can't tell if that offers any comfort.