I dreamed I was a library at 7pm

I was a library in a city that didn’t exist, and the lights were low like they are on summer evenings. The shelves were all made of old hair—thick, dark, coiled like rope—and when someone touched one, it whispered back. I remember sitting in the reading room, not a person, just the quiet between pages. A woman came in with a notebook, asked if I could remember her mother’s voice. I didn’t know how to answer, but I hummed something close. Then the lights went out, and I woke up knowing I’d forgotten what time it was.