My Dreams are Cruel

My life is indecisive. My life is a constant spin, cycle, twist. I can promise you that whatever happened a month ago will happen again. So I prepare...

I had a dream last night. I hated it because in it, I was happy. In the dream, I felt satisfied, rest, and joy. In the dream, the thing that has been tearing me up inside for months came back and apologized. She came back and hugged me, filling my heart with thankfulness like she did eons ago. My dreams are cruel to me.

My dad and I were in the car and he approached the topic of my friends issue. He said he was praying that I would find a soul-mate (friend-wise) in a girl. I said that I had one... I did. I had a best friend that was a girl, and I loved her. I had two and I loved them. They held my heart. It feels like my heart is broken, but they aren't capable of that. Bless them, they are... they were....they're precious. They were precious to me. That's why I'm so scared. That's why little pieces of me wither whenever I dream about them. And I can't talk about it. I can't give in to the pain. I can't surrender to the wrong side. I can't feel it. But I do. I want to talk about it. I want someone to see that it still hurts. Is that wrong?

I hate this. I know that it won't happen, so why did I dream it? Like dreaming about chocolate when you're allergic to it. >.> What the heck is that?...

I think they're reminding me of my fear. They're reminding me of my weakness. I find it so difficult to push myself outside of my comfort zone because I'm afraid of what hurt me to happen again. That spin. That cycle. That twist. It's going to hit me......
But I'm being hypocritical. I tell them not to focus on the future, and half of me is terrified of the future. Will it always hurt this much? Will it happen again? Will it ever make sense. Fear. Fear. Fear. It consumes me, and eats my wisdom. It fills the corners of head with lies that I try so hard to ignore. Try so hard.... I'm trying. I promise. I promise...
"No one's got it all..."

I'm inspired constantly. I'm like that girl in that picture. I don't know what that had to do with anything. This isn't a poem that, at the end, all makes sense. It's me spilling my thoughts.

I'll stop spilling my thoughts now.
Hugs on the other hand...