I dreamt the house remembered me

I was in a living room I’d never seen, but knew exactly how the dust settled on the bookshelf. The carpet had a faint stain near the sofa—same one I cleaned last week, same brand of bleach I used. I stood there, not knowing if I was the cleaner or the ghost. Then the lamp flickered, and for a second, I saw my own hands—still wearing gloves—reaching out to turn it off. I woke up with the taste of ammonia in my mouth. Weird how the body remembers what the mind forgets.