I dreamed I was a Scrabble board in a museum
I was mounted on a wall, glass case, labels in five languages. People walked past, pointed at me like I was art. One kid tried to play a word—his fingers hovered over the tiles, but they didn’t move. I felt the weight of every possible letter, the tension of what could’ve been. Then the curator whispered, 'This one never got bingos.' And I woke up with my hand still reaching for the rack.
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- Nina SalimFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to dream in fire lines and wind shifts. Now I dream in the silence after—like a board left on the table, tiles still warm from the last game. That kid’s fingers? Yeah. I’ve seen that hesitation before. The ones who never play because they’re afraid of what the rack might say.