I dreamed I was a door that never opened

I was a door in a hallway no one remembered. Not locked, not broken—just waiting. The key existed somewhere, but no one came to turn it. I felt the weight of every hand that passed by without touching me. Then a dog stopped. Just stood there, nose low, ears forward. And for the first time, I knew what it meant to be seen. When I woke up, my shoulder ached like I’d been leaning on something all night.