Marcel Winatschek

Somewhere Else Entirely

The urge comes in waves—grab someone by the arm and just go. Not plan it, not pack properly, disappear through the nearest gate and keep moving. Lost cities, unknown clubs, music no one has filed under a genre yet, dancing until something in the chest loosens. A last night, then another last night, the sky wheeling overhead, the water catching whatever light is left. Never quite going back. There’s no real reason to.