Wir tanzen den Regen weg

It's like a huge sun-drenched hall after a storm: it smells of wet asphalt, but the light is already breaking through, and the air is so fresh that it makes your head spin. All fears, crumpled lists of mistakes, papers soaked with tears - in an instant become unimportant. A noisy crowd, voices mingling, hands in the air - and now the rain is no longer a threat, but a backdrop to dance to as if there might be no music tomorrow.

There is something in this rhythm that resembles morning coffee after a sleepless night - bitter, invigorating, honest. It's as if someone is whispering: look, life is still here, even if the clouds are hanging low. And as the sun slowly emerges from behind the edge of the roof, it seems that anything is possible: flying, shouting, laughing until you're hoarse, dancing to wash away the remnants of yesterday.