The Geometry of Falling Upwards

She
The city usually feels like a jagged cut, sharp edges of concrete and steel slicing through the softness of my days. But here? Here is where gravity forgets its job.
I look up. A kaleidoscope suspended in blue glass. Not just umbrellas—shattered fragments of every emotion I haven't named yet. Red for a bruised heart mending itself; yellow for that sudden, blinding laugh we shared on the subway yesterday.
The denim is rough against my skin, grounding me while everything above floats weightless and wild. It feels like walking through a dream where it never rains, only blooms open to catch the sun.
I don't need shelter anymore. The city has finally opened its ribs wide enough for us to breathe inside.

Editor: Kaleidoscope