text: As I closed the cover of my 47th book that day, a peculiar question crossed my mind: Why? It seemed like such an odd question. After all, as a librarian, devouring books was an integral part of my existence. The unquenchable thirst for knowledge, coupled with an unwavering determination to unearth the essence hidden within these age-old walls, where every answer resided--such was the path of a librarian. Lost in my thoughts, I felt a gentle tug on the back of my coat interrupting my musings. I turned to find a genuine curiosity, my sole companion amidst the vastness of this Library. It was my little pet lizard, an enigma in itself, as I remained unaware of its species. Despite delving into countless bestiaries, I could never uncover a conclusive answer. The desire to unravel its truth consumed me. I had been searching for what seemed like an eternity, yet in this very moment, everything felt devoid of purpose. Meaningless? No, that wasn't quite right. After all, wasn't it the pursuit of truth that infused it with the very meaning I sought? Oh dear, I'm beginning to sound like those eccentrics I left behind countless books ago. The entire notion is nothing more than absurdity. Although, perhaps the last 10 million books have influenced my perspective. Glancing to my left, I met the gaze of a fellow librarian. His hands clearly held at least a couple dozen books open--a clear indication of his seniority. I had a long journey ahead of me before I could match such impressive speed. “Say, what do you think we read for?” I posed the question to him, and his response mirrored that of a new parent staring at their newborn--a mixture of surprise and unamused indifference. In this library, there were no such paternal figures; you simply came into existence. I couldn't be certain of the accuracy of my analogy, but having read my fair share of fatherly figures, I had a theoretical understanding of what it should entail. "To find out," he replied, delivering a response as straightforward as the one I would have given. I already knew this answer, so why did I seek it from him? Was I hoping that his seniority would provide a clearer, more profound insight? "In the grand halls of this magnificent library, we embark on a quest to uncover meaning," he burst out, as if moved by my question. Did my inquiry elicit a sense of pity? After a brief pause, he continued, "Some argue that our endeavors are in vain, asserting that there are no predetermined meanings to be found. According to them, the universe holds no obligation to offer us easy answers or any answers at all." He returned a book to its rightful place on the shelf before selecting another. "Others contend that we must first exist, and then diligently seek out meaning. They believe that the responsibility of discovering meaning rests solely on our shoulders." He paused again, his hand hovering over a book as he pondered. "And then there are those who perceive the absurdity of it all. How can one hope to find meaning in an uncaring universe, one so detached from our desires? Yet, they refuse to accept the notion of meaninglessness. Even in the face of such laughable circumstances, their souls ignite with rebellious passion. If our reality resembles an indifferent parent, so be it. They proclaim that we shall raise ourselves." “What do you think?" I asked him, curious to hear his thoughts. "I am still finding out," he replied. "And so I read. Within each book resides an extension of my mind, waiting to assimilate and become an integral part of my being. Over time, I will devour the entire library and finally achieve a sense of wholeness. Does meaning truly exist? Perhaps not. Even after delving into the depths of my own existence, I may never unearth it. Nevertheless, let heaven exist, even if my own place lies in hell. Let me endure torment, suffering, and annihilation, as long as there exists one moment, one entity, in which this vast Library can find its validation." While listening to my fellow librarian, I noticed an irritation in my eyes. What was this? A stray beam of light, previously unnoticed, pierced through from a hidden corner of the room. Had it been present all along, evading my senses? Just as I contemplated investigating further, my loyal companion tugged at my shoulder with increased urgency, as if attempting to redirect my attention. What was the purpose of your actions, my faithful companion? As I pondered the significance behind his behavior, his serene gaze struck me with the weight of a collapsing bookshelf. There was no meaning--wait, perhaps there was meaning, but it remained obscured. Or did it? A contagion of thoughts spiraled within my mind, racing at an ever-increasing pace. In a matter of mere seconds, I found myself descending into a cacophony of the mind. “Is meaning reality?” I completely ignored the presence of the light. Actually, no, it would be more accurate to say that I was more aware of it’s existence than ever before. Yet my recognition of it held no power or sway over it. "Whatever do you mean?" He continued his adept handling of the books, swiftly transitioning between them. Truly, he was a masterful reader. "It's just as you mentioned. We comb through the vast expanse of this library in pursuit of meaning. But who determines that such a search is the correct path to follow? Perhaps we are merely misguided." "Are you suggesting that our endeavors are devoid of meaning?" "No, but what if we are asking the wrong question altogether? When a rock tumbles down a mountainside, does it ponder the 'why'? When I gaze into the eyes of my loyal companion, I see the same indifferent nature as that of a rock. Is it the answers that are flawed, or are we cursed with the burden of incessant questioning? My companion, devoid of inquiries, still lives! Do you not see? We have become worshippers of the moon! A false reality, a stolen light molded to fit its own image!" My speech grew fragmented, my pacing erratic. I felt my mind getting consumed by a sense of disarray as I continued, "Can't you see? The universe was never meant for us! Our pursuit of meaning is a hell of our own creation, and there is no heaven awaiting the enlightened! We must cast aside our symbols, our distorted reflections of reality that have transformed into works of fiction, and finally embrace the sun." Although my skin had grown scorched, and my sole listener had begun to flee, frightened by the intensity of the light, I pressed on. No other librarian was within reach, with the nearest one likely hundreds of thousands of books away. It was unlikely that my words would reach them, but perhaps the light would. No longer a mere irritant in the corner of my eye, it had transformed into a vast sea of radiance, seeking to dissolve all fiction. I gave voice to my thoughts for as long as I could. Even if there was the slimmest chance that a listener may be lurking around the corner, I had to hold on. At least, that was what I thought before my flesh started to crumble away into ashes. I realized; even if there was a listener, was I certain they could understand my language? My symbols which were so detached from reality? As my skull struck the ground I witnessed my loyal companion slowly slithering away into the depths of the library. Unscathed, untainted by the sun's searing beam. In my final moments, I beheld the sight of unimaginable beauty. An eternal library, bisected and slowly liquefying in a blaze of glory, akin to a slice of cheese yielding to the touch of a heated blade. No words, no canvas could ever capture the grace of this spectacle. It demanded shades and tones and hues and dyes more splendid than the iris of a magnificent rainbow. Oh, such a breathtaking sight it was. \--END İf you've read it till the end, I sincerely thank you. I would also love to hear any thoughts you may have.