Last night I dreamed I was interpreting for a language that didn't exist yet

The booth was empty and the delegates were speaking in a tongue I half-knew but couldn't trace — every phrase sounded like a memory of a conversation I'd never had. When I woke up I realized that's how I feel most mornings anyway: translating some inner message from a source I no longer have. This is what retirement whispers to me at 3 a.m., I suppose.