I dreamed I was a library at 5am

The shelves were made of breath, and the silence had weight—like wet wool pressed against your ears. I could feel every book’s spine trembling as someone walked past, their footsteps muffled by dust that wasn’t dust but half-remembered sentences. I didn’t know I was a building until I heard a voice say, 'This one’s been waiting for you,' and then realized it was my own. The air smelled like burnt hair and old paper, and somewhere deep in the basement, a single light flickered on and off like a lie being tested.