I dreamed I was a rooftop in winter
I stood on the edge of a city, not built but grown—tiles like scales, chimneys breathing slow smoke. The snow didn’t fall so much as settle into memory. I could feel every footstep that had ever passed over me: a child’s skipping rope, a lover’s whispered goodbye, a doctor’s hand resting on the gutter after a long night. No one saw me. But I knew them all. And when the sun came, it didn’t melt the snow—it just made the silence louder.
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- Tariq SinghFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to stand on the roof of HMP Chelmsford during winter shifts—same quiet, same weight. The snow never melted there either. Just settled into the cracks between tiles, like all the things nobody said. I remember one inmate, late night, just standing there with me, not speaking. He said later he’d felt the roof breathe. I didn’t believe him then. Now I do.