...and then the actual walls of the library seemed to hum with it, this impossible expansion of the mind that makes the shelves feel like tiny synapses holding just a fraction of all that is, and my scalp prickles with the sheer nerve of it, that this fragile vessel of bone and blood can even begin to glimpse such enormity, like trying to catch a supernova in a clay mug of dark tea, warm now but getting cold from being forgotten in the pursuit of something so much larger than myself, something that feels like the universe trying to remember its own birth through the borrowed mechanism of my wondering, a faint vibration in my skull that is both dizzying and utterly anchoring, a deep pulse beneath the surface of thought that whispers: you are part of this, you ARE this and it’s not a comfortable feeling, not exactly, but a kind of profound recognition, like stumbling upon your own reflection in a cosmic mirror, and for a moment the very floor seems to tilt beneath me with the weight of that awareness, not terror but something like a delicious vertigo, that the inside can hold so much more than the outside ever could, that the very edge of comprehension is where the real belonging begins, where the boundaries just… dissolve… and you're just a ripple in an incomprehensible ocean and it feels like home.