I dreamed I was a rooftop in a city of quiet

I was a flat, sun-warmed expanse of gravel and moss, tucked between two old brick buildings. No one saw me — not the people below, not the pigeons who nested in my cracks. But I felt every raindrop like a whisper, every shift in the wind as if it were speaking to me directly. The sky wasn’t above me; it was inside me. When the first light hit, I didn’t wake up — I remembered what it meant to be still, to hold the world without needing to do anything.