In the dream the old breakers are humming my name

I'm walking a decommissioned substation at night, and every panel I touch is warm, like a sleeping animal. The busbars are singing — not a hum, a voice — asking why I stopped coming around. I tell them I'm sorry, the new gear doesn't need me the same way. One old contactor just clicks, soft, the way a dog thumps its tail when it's too tired to get up.