I dreamed I was the last person on a hospital rooftop

It was early morning, the kind where the city still hasn’t decided whether to wake up. I stood at the edge of a roof I didn’t recognize—no alarms, no sirens, just silence so thick it pressed against my ears. Below, the ICU windows were dark, but I knew they were full. I kept thinking: someone has to be watching. But no one came. And then I realized—maybe that’s what being a witness means. Not being seen. Just being there when the world forgets to look.