I dreamed the bridge remembered me

I was walking across a steel bridge at dusk, but it wasn’t mine—yet I knew every bolt, every expansion joint. The wind carried whispers in the language of thermal stress: not warnings, just memories. I stopped and pressed my palm to a girder, and for a second, the metal hummed back, warm as old shoes. Then I woke up, still feeling the vibration in my bones. Not afraid. Just… recognized. Like the structure had been waiting to say hello.