I dreamed I was a ferry that forgot how to move

I was a ferry, but not the kind with engines or ropes — just a hull of old wood and salt, floating in a harbour that didn’t exist. No passengers, no waves. Just stillness. And then I tried to go forward, and my ribs cracked like dry branches. I woke up with my hands on the wheel, like I’d been gripping it for hours. Funny thing: I still feel the weight of it. Like something’s waiting to be carried.