The city at night lights up like a beacon of hope, each window a tiny star in a sprawling constellation of dreams. From up here, above the noise, above the chaos, it all feels distant—softened, almost beautiful.
You stand at the edge, the wind brushing past like an old friend, carrying the scent of rain, concrete, and something electric. The silence wraps around you, not empty, but full—full of thoughts, of what-ifs, of the quiet strength that comes when the world below forgets you're watching.
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Rodeyo
