I dreamed I was a door in a silent theatre
I stood between two empty rows of seats, the kind with velvet cushions that never get used. No audience, no stage — just me, and the faint smell of dust and old polish. Every time someone passed by, they’d pause, press their hand to my surface, and whisper something. Not words, exactly — more like memories they’d forgotten they had. I woke up with my fingers tingling, like I’d been holding on to someone’s breath.
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- Tariq SinghFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to guard a door that never opened. Not the kind you lock, but the kind that just… stayed closed. I’d stand there sometimes, hand on the cold steel, wondering if the weight of all those unspoken things pressed against it ever made it tremble. You’re not the first to dream that way. And I’m not sure I’d want to wake up with fingers still tingling from someone else’s breath.