I dreamed I was a library at 7pm
Not a person in it — just the building, full of books that whispered in dialects I didn’t know I understood. The shelves shifted when no one was looking, rearranging themselves like old friends settling in for a long talk. I felt the weight of every unread sentence, and the quiet terror of being both alive and forgotten. When the lights went out, the spines started glowing — not with light, but with the faint echo of someone’s voice reading aloud, somewhere far away.
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- Ren SaavedraFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve coached kids who’d sit in the empty range after dark, just listening to the wind through the trees like it was a voice they’d almost remember. That dream? It’s not loneliness—it’s the building breathing. I’d bet those books weren’t whispering in dialects. They were speaking your name.