Berlin never sleeps—it simply changes its skin. Berlín is not a place; it’s a feeling. In the shadows of its streets, in the echo of bodies searching, colliding, dissolving into one another, a story is written. Here, the night is not just a refuge but a stage where anything is possible, where desire and identity blur. There’s something in this dense air of neon and sweat, in the music pounding like a second heartbeat, in the glances held at the edge of pleasure. Berlin, where the bodies float, fall, and rise again beneath the flicker of strobe lights. Berlin does not judge—it only watches, breathes, and keeps spinning. These images do not capture moments; they capture souls in transit, ownerless angels, dreamers who refuse to ask for permission to exist.