I am the facade of a faceless man. I do not exist. I am the projection of other people’s perspective of me. I exist to read people. I do things to get the best reading from them. I do things that I think they want me to do or they expect me to do. I do things that may give me a face. But I remain faceless, wearing a versatile mask which morphs into the desires of the people in front.
I am the man in love. I am the person in pursuit of satisfaction. I am the man hugged. I am the man kissed. And yet I do not feel those lips on mine as my face does not exist. I am the man touched but that touch never escapes the mask. I am the man who makes people laugh and yet I do not know how to laugh. I do not have a mouth. I am the man who sees the world and yet I do not know what it is to have eyes. I am the man people talk to but I have no ears.
The facade controls me. It defines what I am. I do not know where it came from. It is the only one whose warmth I feel.