11.11.25: The Library at Midnight

There’s magic in libraries at night. The smell of paper, the quiet, the sense that words are asleep but dreaming. I once sneaked into a campus library past closing hours and wandered the stacks with a flashlight. Every book felt alive, waiting to be chosen. By day, libraries are functional. At night, they’re cathedrals. You’re alone with centuries of voices, each one whispering from the shelf. It makes you wonder how many lives are hidden in those pages, unread, unnoticed. Maybe immortality isn’t in heaven or the cloud. Maybe it’s just ink, bound, waiting for someone to care again.