Light, Dark, Light

This city makes you forget what matters. You lose yourself in a sea of lonely people—faces, hands, mouths, breath—at your ear, in the club. Which is why it means something when you find the ones who pull you back out of it. Together. You look at them. You smile. They smile back.

I’ve made my peace with looking terrible in photos. Once you’ve convinced yourself it’s purely a matter of photogenic bone structure and nothing to do with the dark circles or the stress-grey hair or the puffy face, it gets easier to accept. Still—one bad photo from this weekend is proof enough that the weekend itself was neither epic nor wasted nor even particularly remarkable. It was exactly right. The right proportions of adventure and rest and surprise.

Friday night at Luzia with the A MILLION crew, plus Wenke, Julia, Fanni, Paulchen, Meltem, Thang, Janos, Nadja and BJ—good people, loud music, the kind of dancing that doesn’t need to be documented. Then the rest of the weekend clawing back toward something like equilibrium: walks along the Spree in the October cold, talking about futures that felt almost plausible in the afternoon light. Carrot cake from The Barn. Indiana Jones on the couch with close friends. Sunrise from a different angle than usual. New music. Other people’s personalities to try on for a few hours and then hand back.

These days can’t be waved past. They’re what keeps you sane—what reminds you what’s real in a world moving at an insane speed. You lose yourself in a sea of lonely people, faces, hands, mouths, breath, at your ear, in the club. And then you find the ones who pull you back. Together. You look at them. You smile. They smile back.