In my dream there was a man alone in a room surrounded by frames without pictures, walls without windows, faces without voices, living another man's life exactly as he was told he should. He did not feel sad because he thought there was no point to feeling. So he thought he was happy.
In my dream I saw a woman laying alone in bed. She had watched her life slipping past day by day. Her children had grown and gone, and her lovers forgot her name. She fell asleep each night embraced only by the cold.
In my dream was a boy who sat and watched his friends running and laughing. He wished that he was beautiful and that everyone else would like looking at him, his hair and his makeup. But they dressed him up in a suit and tie and they cut his hair short and everyone thought he was just bad at being a boy. Disappointment.
In my dream, I was a city. My streets were filled with dreams and the dreams were filled with *** and greed and pain and lust and loneliness. My buildings ached like weathered bones and I felt myself being torn at the seams because no one cared to hold me together. And as they died, they never knew that they were me, and I, I was immortal.