I dreamed I was a library at 7pm

Not a person in it, not even a building—just the quiet of books waiting to be read, and the way the light slants through the high windows like it’s holding its breath. The air smelled like old paper and something else, something like regret that hadn’t happened yet. I stood in the middle of the fiction aisle, and every book had my name on the spine. I didn’t open any. I just let them know I was there. When I woke up, my shoulders were heavy with the weight of not being needed.