I can peer into the dreams and desires of all those around me, whether I mean to or not. I don't know when this came to be, it almost feels like I've been able to do this for as long as I've been alive. Dreams are free for everyone, so it's no wonder that all of humanity can dream so easily without a moment's hesitation. I started by peering into the dreams of my friends while they slumber and I found a multitude of fantastical worlds. One of them is sitting on a porch by an unnamed farm, simply gazing at the horizon with a content expression on their face. It was ironic since this heavily contrasted the chaotic and wonderfully diverse life that they currently live. Goes to show that what you see on the surface isn't always what lies beneath it. Another is seated in an executive office somewhere at the summit of an awe-inspiring skyscraper. Doing who knows what and speaking to who knows who on their phone, I could tell that they had a literal army at their disposal. Finally, their ambition matched the position they so fiercely worked for in that industry today. To dream is to truly live, that's one thing I can say with confidence. In this short life of mine, I've witnessed the rise and fall of so many "what if" and "could've been" stories. What many see as life's cruelty, I see as the indifference of the universe. Dreams sometimes don't come to fruition purely because they didn't. No act of malice or moralistic punishment had a hand in it. They just go to ruin because that's the nature of any kind of existence, tangible or otherwise.

As of this moment, I'm staring at this blotched ashen sky and I mistake it for my own mind at times. This bland visage is all I have to show should another dream seer take a peek into my heart. For all the dreams I've seen, my own has been non-existent from birth. An aphantasian existence is what I label my existence. Some live on for a vision of a better future, others live on for survival to see the next sunrise. I on the other hand? I live because I have nothing better to do. Such a cursed, stagnant, and disappointing life. If dreams were a field of flowers one's owner could frolic through, my landscape would be quite the barren site to behold. No life or death, just the echoes from winds that symbolise my indolent breathing.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

That's why I think I gaze into the hearts of those around me as often as I can. Silently scouring their dreamscapes like a rodent, hoping to find a morsel that'll serve as the seed of my dreams to take root and bloom. Searching, always searching. It feels like forever now. I can't remember what my vessel even looks like. I think I've been searching for too long. I can't remember the last time I slept or ate, all I've done is observe for what feels like infinity. Could it be that this is the result for others that are like me? Extrinsically devouring others' visions in hopes that you'll manifest your own. Oh, poor aphantasian seer, didn't you know? That can only be born from within. Life has never given you that gift, I'm afraid. Now you lay here, an eternal husk of someone who used to exist in the physical plane. Now you wander forever through others' visions of their future, yet none of them know you're even there. Why, I wonder, did it turn out this way? Surely I was born under the same stars and sky as everyone else, so why was my existence so incalculably empty from the start?

I never learned how to fly. Or maybe I once knew how to a lifetime ago. Maybe one of the visions I'd seen along the way was my own but I couldn't fathom how someone like myself could attain such heights and bliss. The bliss of my existence being so violently impossible to ignore by those around me. An existence validated by all, most importantly myself.

Maybe, just maybe, someone will finally see me in one of their dreams. Hopefully, then, will I learn how to fly again.