My breath in the city's hustle and bustle means a haven of peace amidst the city's crowds.
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When I come here, I feel like I can breathe a little. The noise of the street below, the running of people—everything seems to become lighter. A clothesline is tied to one corner of this roof, and some clothes are swaying in the gentle breeze. Their shadows fall on the wet and dry parts of the roof.
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On one side, the stairs go down, and its steps have old paint on them—blue, light green, and in some places a reddish tint. Shoes are placed haphazardly next to the stairs, as if someone has just stepped on them. There is a bucket, a mug, and maybe some cleaning work was going on a while ago.
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At the end of the day, when the light fades and the sky is filled with orange and pink, this roof feels even calmer. The city lights come on one by one. It feels like I'm standing in front of a big canvas, where the stories of the day and the mysteries of the night paint pictures side by side. This roof is not just a place for me, it's my little world, where I sit alone and watch and think.




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