The City Breathes With Us

I sat on the edge of the world, my skin humming under a thin layer of plastic. The city below was nothing but blurred gold and distant whispers.
You didn't say much when you climbed up here with me; you just handed me your jacket before I remembered mine. Now, I wear this transparent shell like a second skin, holding in the warmth that still smells faintly of your coffee-scented morning.
I looked up at the stars and felt small, but then I felt your hand brush against my knee—a soft, deliberate touch that grounded me to this roof, to this moment.
You whispered something into the wind, a secret meant only for us. I didn't hear the words clearly, but I felt them in my chest: two heartbeats syncing under an endless sky.
In this vast concrete sea, we are just two quiet points of light. And suddenly, being small feels like enough.

Editor: Pure Linen