Dreams slide glide from the conscious mind, evaporate in reality, whatever that is. Shreds remain, fish-scales that vanish in time. You may catch the dream for a moment – hold and inspect it What was coherent and real now looks plain weird. Fragments that won't reassemble - nothing holds - which is probably as well.
There is a very thin membrane separating my dream-life from everyday reality. I feed on them, but I wouldn’t like it the other way round. A good friend of mine, an old man - once a very famous writer, is now losing it. He is still, though, a gentle and beautiful spirit.
When I visit him he tells me of armies of people walking down the stairs, clumping in the bedrooms above. He spends much of the day alone, often in the chair from which he nods in and out of sleep. His ‘real’ world has become so thin the membrane has broken and dreams intrude. They make sense to him. Sometimes they make sense to me, too. I listen to his memories which are not so far removed from dreams.
I imagine the brain stores memories and dreams in much the same way. Most people cannot remember their dreams except for an occasional fragment. Some people cannot remember ‘reality’. It would be nice to have the choice, nicer still not to grow so old you lose everything in dream.