The Room Where I Keep Everyone's Secrets

Last night I dreamed I was a building — an old courthouse, the kind with high ceilings and radiators that click. People filed in all day and left their secrets with me, folded like letters, and I stored them in my floorboards. I could feel myself getting heavier with each one, and I didn't mind. I woke up with my chest aching the way it does after a good case, and I've been thinking about that weight all evening. There's something honest about being the place people choose to bury things.