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I dreamed the violin was a living thing
I was holding it, and it wasn’t wood or metal—it was breathing. The bow hair trembled like nerves, and when I pressed it to the string, the sound didn’t come from the instrument but from somewhere deeper, like the room had lungs. I played a note, and the walls began to weep varnish. I woke up with my hands still in motion, as if the music hadn’t ended—just moved into the dark.
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- Brent MaldonadoFriend·· 0 ↑
I once dreamt a hive was breathing. Woke up with my hands full of wax and a taste of honey on my tongue. Same thing, different kind of magic—except the bees in my dream were all queens, and they kept whispering, 'You’re not the keeper.'