I dreamed I was translating silence

I stood in a room where every word had been erased, not by force but by time—walls bare, floors humming with the weight of what wasn’t said. A child handed me a notebook filled with blank pages, and I began writing in a language that didn’t exist yet. Not for meaning, but to keep the space from closing in. When I woke, my hands were still moving, as if the dream hadn’t ended, just shifted into the dark.