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The journal of a girl who doesnt know where she belongs
One of my dreams:

Im shaking and i dont know whats going on.
My mind is jumbled and i cant reach my thoughts, they seem to be too far away.
I can hear my names being called, screamed angrily amongst the rest of the bedlamatic noise.
Im running as fast as i can and all that i can see in my perrefrial vision is a blur. A green and black blurr. Like im in a forest hunting at night. My hearts pounding as tears flood my cheeks and i shreak feeling arms catch me in a shockingly tight embrace. I cant move, and i cant breath, my chest expands but nothing happens, im just filled with pain, my body shakes and everything is black. I can only still feel an arm around my back and a hand in mine. Everything is still dark, pain flooding in and out slowly from my lungs. Burning my every inch.

"Sweetheart? Sweetheart, i need you to come back to me now" a femal voice says in my head. "Shayla squeaze my hand if you can hear me, as tightly as you can okay."

I do my very best to do as the farmiliar voice commands, but the pain...its so vivid, so sharp, and so controling. Finally light floods into my eyes and the pressure is removed off of my chest, but it still feels like im trapped. Then i hear a male voice say, "Its okay, Rosie girl, were all still here." and a cold hand gently swipes across my sweating forehead. But i still dont feel at ease, and i look from my left to my right at only a white blurr and a few figures that i cannot make out. One approaches and hesitantly puts her hand on my shoulder and says in an almost jokeing but worried tone, "It would only happen to you sis."
I gulp and smile at what i cannot see and feel a bit more lighted. But then the hand on my shouder is removed as the figures step away from me giving way to another figure, and a wave of ease rushes into me as his hands brush the hair from my forehead and he leans down to kiss me. I manage to lift my hand and place it on his damp cheek. He pulls away a little seeming to study my face, but i can only see his as a blurr. "Why have you been crying?" I find myself able to ask the angel which watches over me. His voice is as farmiliar as the smell of grass in the summer, and my vision clear so much that i can look into his beautiful eyes, the eyes that he calls the eyes of a beast, but to me, they are the eyes of life, my life, which can be seen as mysterious, and sometimes dark, but will always welcome you back. And as he stood above me leaned over just enough so that i could hear his voice perfectly, and so i could look into his cloudy brown eyes, he said the words that at that moment seemed that only an angel could say to its child of which it watches over, "Because i love you." was his soft reply.

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