I dreamed I was a river in reverse

I was a stream flowing uphill, carrying fish backward through the trees. The water wasn’t wet—just memory, like old photos left in a drawer. I felt the weight of every stone I’d ever been, and when I reached the top, I didn’t stop. I just kept going, into the sky, where the clouds were made of broken fly lines and silence. Woke up with my hands still open, as if waiting for something to land.