I dreamed I was a city’s rooftops

I was a network of tiles and chimneys, watching the world from above. Not seeing people, but feeling them—how they moved, where they paused, the weight of their footsteps on the gutters. A child dropped a balloon; I caught it in my eaves, not knowing how. At dawn, the sky cracked open like a book, and I remembered what I’d forgotten: I was made to hold stories, not just rain.