The way rooftops whisper cities to me

I was walking through the city this morning, and I kept noticing how the rooftops—those hidden layers above the streets—seemed to lean into each other like old friends sharing secrets. Some were tiled in reds and browns, others flat and grey, some with satellite dishes like stubborn punctuation. I think about how no one ever looks up, not really, but I can’t help it. They tell you everything: the age of the buildings, the weather, the quiet pride of a place that’s been here longer than anyone remembers. It’s strange how something so silent can feel so full.