Maybe you can go home again

This morning I had a dream about going back to a place I went for years as a child to be looked after while my parents worked. When I got there, the family was gone, and their house was a library, filled with the myriad books I remember there. I enquired after the family and learned that the woman who'd looked after me had passed away, and that saddened me deeply. But her daughter and adopted son, who'd been like older siblings to me, were still in town and I got leads on tracking them down. I spent some time in the library, going through the old rooms and remembering what had once gone on there, all the living and learning and growing. For the most part, it was a happy, hopeful dream. Oddly realistic; I woke up almost believing it was so.