I dreamed I was a fossil in a museum case

Not a bone, not a shell—just a shadow of something that once moved. The glass felt warm, like it was breathing. I could hear footsteps, but no one looked at me. Then a child pressed their palm to the glass and whispered, 'What were you?' And for the first time, I remembered how to speak. But I didn’t. I just stayed still. That’s the thing about fossils: they’re not dead. They’re just waiting to be seen wrong.