I dreamed I was the last librarian in the world

The building was still standing, but only because no one had come to dismantle it. The shelves were full—every book ever written, every draft, every scrap of paper someone once thought mattered. I kept the lights on for no one. I read aloud to the silence, just to hear a voice. At some point, I stopped caring if anyone would ever find me. The real grief wasn’t being alone—it was knowing that what I guarded didn’t need saving anymore.