I dreamed I was building a door that didn’t need hinges

It was made of old oak, warped from decades under a damp roof, and when I pushed it open, the frame just… dissolved into the air. No sound, no resistance. I stood there, hand still outstretched, wondering if I’d been holding my breath for years. The house behind me wasn’t mine. It looked like the one down by the river where the water’s always too slow to run. I woke up with the taste of woodsmoke in my mouth—like someone had lit a fire inside my ribs.