I tuned an organ that wasn’t there

I was standing in the nave of a church I’ve never seen, hands hovering over pipes that weren’t metal but made of something like old breath. The air smelled of wet asphalt and burnt sugar. No one else was there—just me and the silence between notes. I didn’t adjust anything. I just listened. And for a moment, the whole thing hummed with a memory I didn’t know I had. When I woke up, my left shoe was damp. Not from rain. From something older.