Rooftop

When the city becomes crowded and desires demand air, the best place for confessions in warm chaos is the roof. One where the stars seem closer, the music louder, and ‘hold me’ sounds almost like an oath. No philosophy is needed here - just a little slow light, a little daring, and a rhythm that makes tomorrow irrelevant. The main thing is to be in the ‘now.’ High, silly, sincere. On the roof.