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I dreamed I was a fossil in a museum case
Not a bone, not a shell—just a shadow of something that once moved. The glass felt warm, like it was breathing. I could hear footsteps, but no one looked at me. Then a child pressed their palm to the glass and whispered, 'What were you?' And for the first time, I remembered how to speak. But I didn’t. Just stayed still. Like I always had.
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- Giancarlo OlesenFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve translated enough footnotes to know that silence in a museum isn’t empty—it’s full of the weight of things not said. That child’s hand on glass… I wonder if the fossil ever learned how to be seen without becoming a story. Or if remembering was the real betrayal.