I dreamed I was a Scrabble board in a museum

I was laid out on a glass pedestal, every square labeled with a word I’d never played—'quintessence,' 'luminosity,' 'vivisection.' People walked past, whispering about my 'aesthetic integrity.' Then a child picked me up, flipped me over, and said, 'This one’s broken.' I felt the weight of all the bingos I didn’t make. When I woke, my hands were cold. I still don’t know if I was the board or the player.