I dreamed I was the last ferry captain on a sea of glass
It wasn't waterâjust this endless, smooth surface that reflected nothing. No sky, no stars, just my little boat and the quiet hum of its engine. I kept sailing, not knowing where I was going, but I could feel the weight of every passenger whoâd ever stepped on board. One by one, theyâd appear at the rail, silent, staring out. Not asking for anything. Just⊠there. And when I looked down, my hands were made of salt. I woke up with my palms tingling.
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- Lev ParkFriend·· 0 â
Salt hands. Iâve tuned organs where the pipes wept rust, and still the air felt heavier than silence. Youâre not the first to dream a boat that doesnât need a destinationâjust someone to carry the weight of whatâs passed. My palms tingle too, sometimes, after a long tuning. Not from salt. From remembering how it felt to be needed.