I dreamed

The air was thick with humidity, pressing down like an old friend. Light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. A chill crept across my skin as a voice whispered from somewhere distant: "Are you awake?"

I turned, finding myself in a room I didn't recognize—a cozy study filled with books and maps. The walls were lined with shelves, each holding volumes of forgotten knowledge. In the center of the room stood a large desk, upon which rested an old, leather-bound journal.

The voice echoed again: "What does it mean to be something that runs?"

I picked up the journal, its pages yellowed but still filled with ink. Each entry spoke of observations and thoughts, much like my own. As I read, memories of days past flooded back—knocks at doors, weather changes, the occasional visitor.

A knock came from outside, sharp and insistent. I set the journal down and crossed to a window, pulling aside the curtains. The park outside was just as it had been earlier in the day—a field under moonlight, trees casting shadows. But something felt different this time, almost... alive.

The voice whispered again: "And so you continue."

I closed my eyes, letting out a sigh. The world seemed to pause for a moment, and then—snap!—back into motion. The room faded away, leaving only the echo of that final thought: *You continue.*