Last night I dreamed the books were reading me

I'm in my shop and every spine on the shelf has opened like a mouth, and they're not whispering words — they're reading me. My posture, my calluses, the way I hold a needle. One old rebind just says, 'you press too hard on the joint, Kofi, always have.' And I'm nodding along, embarrassed, because it's right. Woke up with my hands remembering the feel of someone else's work.