I dreamt the courthouse was a library now

I was walking through it—no more gavel, no more benches. Just shelves. And the files? They weren’t paper. They were books that didn’t open. I kept trying to read them, but the titles were all in my client’s handwriting. One said only 'still here.' I sat on the floor and waited for something to make sense. The silence wasn’t empty. It was full of things we never got to say.