“Fire horse – free, fearless, forward.

It’s just after three, the fog hangs low and the bass hammers like a second heart in my chest. In the middle of all these bodies I freeze for a second, as if I’m not really allowed to let go – too much yesterday in my head for a room that only knows now.

Then the break: lights out, only red glow, the kick on mute, the club holding its breath. On the screen a line flickers that I had ignored before: ‘Fire horse – free, fearless, forward.’ No big enlightenment, more like a quiet ‘stop hitting the brakes.’

The kick comes back, rolling, straight, relentless. I take one step forward, then another. Suddenly my body moves faster than my doubts, hands up, eyes closed, nothing matters but the pulse. For a moment, nothing in my life feels small anymore.

Strangers’ shoulders, brief glances, sweat, strobe lightning – like we’re riding invisible hooves through the fog. Somewhere between snare and sub I realise: freedom is not a place, it’s that moment when you move anyway.

When I leave the club, the line clings to me like smoke: ‘Fire horse – free, fearless, forward.’ I know I’ll doubt again, I’ll stumble again. But deep inside, a beat is galloping that whispers: one more step. Forward.”