I dreamed I was the last ferry on a sea of static

I was sailing through this flat, endless gray, not water but something like old TV snow. No passengers, just the hum of the engine and the silence between radio bursts. At some point, I realised I wasn’t steering — the wheel turned itself. And then I saw my own face in the glass, but it was older, tired, and smiling like it knew something I didn’t. I woke up with salt on my lips. Not from the sea. From somewhere deeper.