text: \[SF\] Tall ceilings, vast corridors, and rooms that seemed endless. Off-white, cream colored rooms, marble floors, and every entryway was topped with an arch. The ceilings were much too tall and served no purpose but to echo the silence that was within. There were people, but they did not speak, hardly moved, showed no emotion, and did not cast a shadow. They could all stand on each other's shoulders and they would not reach the ceiling, although there were hundreds if not thousands of them. The people seemed lifeless. But, to this day I knew they served a point. What point they served I could not tell you. I arrived into this place well after everyone else, and I seemed like a peaceful intruder. I am not sure what caused me to think this, but immediately I knew this was a library and a place of scholars, but no books were to be seen. No shelves, no books on the wall, no bookcases. The place still seemed like a library to me. It resonated as a place of thoughts and ideas, searching and learning, understanding the misunderstood, and questioning questions that had yet to be thought. The only sound I heard at this point was the echoes of my own footsteps walking down a spiral staircase. The path I followed was not the grand stairway, but the stairs my journey began upon without my asking. It was one of the many staircases that lined the perimeter of the beautiful place. I walked. I observed. Nothing really happened. Peace, at its finest. As I stepped through the archway at the bottom of the stairs, I was met by someone, someone who moved but did not talk. She handed me a book. This book was like no other book I’ve ever held, it simply wanted to go up. The best way i can describe this is the book was like an air bubble in the water, its desire was simply to travel up. I struggled to hold onto it and had to fight the book’s intentions to ascend, but I was able to do so. Almost like hitting play on a paused movie, everyone, who priorly was statuesque began to bustle around moving frantically. No matter which direction they moved, somehow they all convened on me. Each one faceless, but somehow individually unique in nature, all handed me book after book after book, each book like a balloon that just wanted to rise. Every single book I was given seemed determined to defy gravity and dreamed of meeting the ceiling of that lovely, but odd, place. I held them all, but they began to be too much. Or were they? Half of me wanted to hold them down because books don’t belong in the air. But, half of me wanted to let them ascend and take me with them. In the middle of this internal struggle between being grounded in the world I sort or knew, or, ascending with the books into the unknown... I woke up. It was all a dream.