The First Dream, The First Nightmare

I don't dream much. I've had one, very beautiful dream a few weeks ago, I woke up crying I was so happy. I never saw his face and ultimately it ended with him leaving:

I was in a large hall with hundreds of people. Everyone was milling around, smiling, laughing, enjoying themselves. I found myself standing behind Ryan, rubbing his back and hugging him from behind. Someone called us all to "attention" in essence and people began to sit down facing the front of this massive room. I sat behind Ryan with my head against his back feeling him breath, my arms wrapped around his waist. I sat there breathing him in. At some point people were being called and were getting up to head off to the right. I thought nothing of it, focused on being with him.

I panicked when I hear someone call "James..." Ryan was about to leave me - disappearing from my arms, leaving me there helpless and abandoned. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his chest, pinning his arms against him, crying into his back and resolving that nothing would make me let go. He would have to poof from between my arms if he was going to be taken. I held my breath, terrified that I would hear his name.

I woke up. No name called. He wasn't taken.

Except he was. The empty spot beside me reminded me I had been robbed.

Tuesday night's dream was, what felt like, 6 hours of complete misery. It took just minutes to recognize this was not going to be pleasant even though he was there. I woke sweating and even more exhausted than when I'd crawled into bed.

I can't decide if it's better to have no dreams at all and to simply re-live the good times during waking hours or to endure what should be a few hours of an empty mind and peace with the gamble of a sometimes good yet sometimes hellish extension of everyday...