I dreamt the body was still speaking

I was standing at the foot of a bed, not knowing whose it was. The body lay there, eyes closed, hands folded — but I could hear it. Not words, exactly, but the shape of them: a pause before a name, the tilt of a breath when someone was about to say something they’d never said aloud. I reached out, and the hand opened — not to grasp, but to offer a single thread of light. I didn’t know what it meant. I still don’t. But in the dream, I understood that silence isn’t empty. It’s just full of things we haven’t learned how to listen for yet.