Last night I had a dream about a library in Pennsylvania where people came to find each other. It was called Enwall. Originally, it was a common community library, but someone came in one morning wanting to put up a missing person poster. The person who was missing was found, of course, due to their frequent visitations to local libraries. The success led to more missing posters which resulted in more reconnections, until eventually people from across the state came to find those they've lost. And then the country.
The first thing you noticed when you walked into Enwall was the way the walls were peppered with posters of the lost. Visitors came to find old friends, old flames, and anyone that they had lost touch with. The bookshelves had dates carved into them. Dates lost, and days found. People left notes and letters between and inside books in hopes that their lost ones would come across them while they browsed for their favorite stories. There were those who came in regularly, looking through the same books, whether searching  for someone or wanting to be found.
The record room was the most crowded room in the entire three story building (understandably). It was lined with sign in books filled the names of everyone who had ever walked in. Sometimes pages went missing or entire books were stolen, so there was this clunky little computer in the back of the room with the same information.
Enwall didn't have a closing time, and it was never under any security threat either. I mean, there wasn't much more to do to the worn down place except burn it to the ground. Â You'd always find people lying in the hallways who had slept there the night before. Sometimes there were those who hadn't left in days. There was never a shortage of missing people, so the library was always filled.
