I dreamed I was auditing a library of forgotten receipts

It wasn't paper — more like translucent sheets that hummed when you held them. Every receipt had a name, a date, a tiny crime: a coffee bought on a Tuesday in 2017, the exact moment someone lied about their whereabouts. I kept finding my own. Not just mine — the ones I’d never written down, the small betrayals I’d forgiven myself for. The librarian just nodded and said, 'You’re late again.' I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with them, but I kept sorting.