The city breathes.
Beneath the North Avenue Bridge, a current of light flows,
caught between steel and silence.
Cars draw glowing lines through the dark,
like thoughts that refuse to rest.
The skyline holds still,
a silhouette of glass and concrete —
fragile, proud, observant.
Up here, time loses its rhythm.
Each frame becomes a poem,
written in light, motion, and patience.
One glance. One click.
And the night tells its own story.