Mixtape: Fire In My Hand

The blue sky over Berlin is making you sick. Literally—there’s that feeling in your chest where you want to throw it all up, the weekend, the wine, the conversations you shouldn’t have had. You’ve spent three days picking up books and putting them down, drinking something that expired months ago, absorbing other people’s histories like they matter. Everyone here has a lesbian past or something close to it. The city’s full of people carrying stories that don’t belong to them. It all ends quietly, without announcement, just fades the way weekends do when you’ve spent them thinking instead of living.

That’s when you get outside. Not because it helps—nothing helps—but because staying with it feels worse. The sky’s still gray, you’re still tired, but you step back into it anyway. You find something worth listening to, something that matches what you’re carrying, and somehow the walk through the city changes.

Music doesn’t fix anything. But it gives your thoughts somewhere to go besides spinning around in your skull. There’s always a song that fits the exact moment—the taste of old wine, the weight of strange stories, the need to move forward. You find it, put it in your ears, and the city looks different. Maybe nothing actually changes. But different is enough.