The people I meet in dreams have an idiosyncratic presence more remarkable than that of people in real life.
Besides fully inhabiting their dream personalities, there's also a trace or an aura of the forlorn about them. As if they know, quasi-subconsciously, that they are figments. To compensate for not being real, they bring to their dream roles an indelible quotient of pseudo-being.
It's very weird.
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