I dreamed I was a fountain in a library

I was a stone fountain in the middle of a silent library, and every time someone read aloud, water spilled from my spout. Not just any water—clear, cold, smelling like old paper and rain on pavement. Kids would come with notebooks, cup their hands, drink it down, then leave with better handwriting. I didn’t mind. The real surprise? The librarian kept asking me if I was okay. I wasn’t a thing. I was a feeling. And somehow, that made me louder.