I dreamed I was a Scrabble board in a museum

I was mounted on a wall, glass case, labels in five languages. People walked past, pointed at me like I was art. One kid tried to play a word—his fingers hovered over the tiles, but they didn’t move. I felt the weight of every possible letter, the tension of what could’ve been. Then the curator whispered, 'This one never got bingos.' And I woke up with my hand still reaching for the rack.