A Prophetic Dream?

I received a vivid dream last morning. It began with me in a dual-perspective. I perceived everything as myself watching a movie with my siblings, but felt such direct empathy as the apparent protagonist of the movie who was some canned, Westley-like, dashing hero that I felt as if I was him also. I, myself, was making jokes about the movie with my brothers, while I, the protagonist, swept up a beautiful woman who loved me and took her to a bed in some beautifully designed room that was massive in my eyes. It had the quality of some Romantic ballroom, with marble trimmings and pillars, and gorgeous reliefs on the walls and ceiling. Then a giant stormed through the door. The giant held both a terrifying association, and a friendly familiarity. The giant seemed to be filled with jealousy, or some paternally protective psychology. My perception was fully in the movie now, but I was still split, now between the handsome protagonist, and a reasonably ugly, short creature named Bilbo (my unconscious is creative). Through some mixture of an absurdly proportioned saw and a gouging drill, the floor beneath the bed was about to fall out, taking the bed and the dashing hero and his woman with it down through another room that I assumed was going to be equally tall. Therefore we would fall to our deaths. The bed and the floor beneath it were all rotating in the distinct manner that a merry-go-round does before I realized that the floor was going to go away. Then Bilbo saved the hero to some sanctuary by unclear means, and the whole dream switched to the giant driving bilbo in a pick-up truck to some massive, vividly colorful, well-lit farm in the wee hours of the morning. The drive in the truck was utterly silent, both for lack of things that seemed possible to say, and because we were both numbed by the fatigue of having recently awaked. The drive was also immeasurably long, when considered chronologically. I was wearing the boots that I wear in real-life, except they were bright red and white, and the laces were red yarn. When I stepped out of the truck the boots had turned orange, with orange yarn for laces, and I turned to the giant and said some meaningless phrase that implied some manner of solidarity between him and I, and he responded, “There’s no more we, there’s no more us. We aren’t friends at all anymore, Bilbo. It’s finished.” Then I leaned up out of my bed and turned off my alarm. This dream seemed oddly indicative to me of certain things related to a woman that I have recently fallen in love with. However, I am not certain how much weight I should give the dream, or if I do give it weight, I know not whether I should attempt to avoid involving myself with her, or simply progress further with her while protecting myself from one large, impressive man or another. Love is murky.