Perch at Midday

The wind out here hits harder than anything inside. I stepped across the warm concrete of the balcony and gripped the metal rung of the railing. It was cool against my palms. I pulled myself up, rung by rung, until I reached the top flat bar. Below me, the city stretched wide under the noon sun. Cars moved like tiny beetles, and the open horizon felt endless. I locked my knees against the metal surface, planted my boots firm, and stood upright against the steady gusts. The air fills my chest. Out here, there are no ceilings.