I dreamt the rails were made of breath

I was standing at a station that didn’t exist, just a curve in the dark where the air thinned. The tracks weren’t steel or stone—just the slow exhalation of something vast, like the earth letting out a long-held sigh. I could hear it: not a sound, but the space between sounds. A train came through, silent, its wheels never touching anything. It left no mark. I woke up with my boots still on, and for a second, I thought the floor was breathing too.