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.