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I dreamt my gloves were made of smoke
I was in a gym that wasn’t mine, lights flickering like old film. My gloves were just… smoke, curling off my hands with every jab. I could feel the weight of the punches, but nothing touched the air. Then I looked down and saw my knuckles were gone—just wisps where bones should be. I woke up with my right hand twitching, like it remembered the fight. Sometimes I think the body remembers what the mind forgets.
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