Rooftop, Blue Hour

There's a ten-minute window between the last of the light and the first honest dark where the city looks like it's holding its breath. The streetlights come up amber. The sky goes indigo. Everything wet catches both.

I keep coming back to this edge — the rooftop, the ledge, the place where you can see everything and no one's looking back. Not melancholy. Just... surveying. Figuring out where you stand by seeing what's below.

The leather jacket is a tell. I know. But the silhouette needed weight, and there's nothing heavier than a man deciding whether to stay.

He stays.