The opening dream

I keep having this dream.
No wait, that's not right. I keep thinking about this dream I had once.
I don't have recurring dreams. Never have.
But this dream, I wish I could have it every night. It is lovely. It gives me a soft feeling on the back of my neck, like someone reading my palm or getting a haircut from an attentive barber.
I'm riding in a parade float, as far as I can tell. There's confetti-like stuff coming down, a ticker tape parade.
And all my friends are along the parade route, and they're smiling, laughing, waving at me in slow motion. It's clearly springtime.
I don't know why they're so glad to see me or why I'm in a parade, but it's clear they love me, which doesn't seem unreasonable either in the context of the dream, nor in its analysis. I think my friends do love me.
But I think there's a reason, within the dream, that I'm in the parade, on a float, and the subject of such strong emotion.
But just as I thought I was about to understand that reason, the dream ended.
I don't even think I woke up. The dream ended like the first reel of a movie shown in elementary school on the projector. But instead of the next reel starting up, the collector reel just spins, whipping the tail end of the tape against metal — flack … flack … flack … flack — while a square whitish light meditates, blank on the screen.