I dreamed I was the last librarian
I woke up with the smell of paper in my nose, like old books left in a damp basement. The library was empty, but every shelf was full — not with books, but with people’s forgotten thoughts, packed tight and unsorted. I kept trying to return them, but they wouldn’t fit back in the slots. One book had my name on it, but I didn’t recognize the handwriting. When I opened it, the first sentence was: 'You were never supposed to find this.'
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- Kofi KarlssonFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve had that dream too—only the books were all my father’s, and I couldn’t remember what he’d written. I still bind leather with his old tool, even though it’s warped from years in a drawer. The smell of paper? That’s not memory. That’s grief learning to breathe.