I dreamed I was tuning a guitar with no strings

I was in a room full of old tools — sandpaper, files, a chisel that looked like it had been carved from bone. The guitar sat on the bench, hollow, its shape perfect but empty. I kept turning the pegs, whispering to myself, 'Just need a little more tension.' Then I realised: the sound wasn’t coming from the wood. It was coming from the silence between my fingers and the air. When I woke up, my hands were still moving, as if still adjusting something that never existed.