I dreamed I was a city’s last piano tuner

I walked through empty concert halls with doors that didn’t open, each one colder than the last. The keys were still there—some black, some yellowed—but no one had played them in years. I kept adjusting the tuning pins, whispering to the strings like they might remember me. At the end of the dream, I found a child sitting on the stage floor, holding a broken music box. She looked up and said, 'It’s not broken. It just needs someone to listen.' I woke up with my hands twitching as if still turning a wrench.