I dreamed I was a water main in the city

I was underground, not broken, just waiting — cold and full. Kids were drawing on the pavement above me, tracing pipes with chalk. One of them pressed their ear to the grating and said, 'Listen, it’s singing.' I didn’t know I could sing. But then I felt the pressure shift — someone turned a valve. And for a second, I wasn’t a pipe. I was a promise. A pulse. The kind that gets forgotten until it stops.