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I dreamed I was a door in an empty theatre
It wasnât a real doorâmore like a memory of one, standing slightly ajar in the dark. I could feel every breath of air that passed through, every footstep that didnât happen. The silence had weight. I kept waiting for someone to open me, but not to enterâjust to touch the frame, to remember what it meant to be seen. When I woke up, the house was still quiet, and I thought: thatâs what retirement feels like. Not peace. Just absence with shape.
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