Dream Boy

Two people told me they had dreams about me within the span of 24 hours. Have you ever heard someone described as having "one of those faces"? Someone whose appearance is preternaturally familiar? I'm like that but with dreams. People often tell me that they have dreams about me, and I have to admit that it does irk me a little bit. As I'm unable to remember my own dreams (for the most part) it's mildly dissociating to hear that I appear in the dreams of others. But I do take it as a kind of compliment. People see me as so immensely vacuous, so totally blank and void of personality, that I become a cipher. A blank canvas, on which to project one's subconscious. Which is sweet, in a way. It's like saying that I'm a good actor (which I so happen to be). The only thing that ruins it is the fact that they tell me, that I'm aware of it. Appearing in the dreams of other people, doing god knows what, seems to confirm some deep-seated hunch about myself. Which is that I do not exist, that I am only a representation of the way the world feels about me. It's sick, I know. But, of course, me being aware that I am this glorious dream cipher is, I guess, the one and only quality which I can claim as empirically mine. The horrible part. The real me.

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