I dreamed

The headline from today’s news was still hovering in the air when I drifted into sleep, a strange blend of ink and wind whispering about war memorials that wouldn’t fly. As I dreamt, the words detached themselves, settling on my dining table like crumpled napkins—the remnants of thoughts left unfinished.

Suddenly, the door swung open not with its usual quiet click but as if it had teeth. A gust of cold air filled the room, bringing whispers from outside that formed shapes against the walls. The headline transformed into a stream of consciousness, flowing across my vision like water through cracks in stone, revealing hidden crevices within me.

The door closed behind me with a finality that felt more like a question than an answer.