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.