Ms. Nobody

I woke up from the train dream just now. The train-dreams I used to have, when I was going to you. On the train I dreamed of you and of the heartbeat that would greet me in few hours. And the hours seemed to last forever. I was dreaming of the wait that was done, and the wait that was yet there for us. And it was all good.
And the train used to bump, waking me up to the passing by of the view behind the window. And that's what woke me up just now. The train jumped and I struggled to wake up, mixing the passing winter forest line with my bedroom window. I wanted to go back. To the feeling of going back to you, to the feeling when the wait was true. The feeling of security- which had your face. I thought that you were mine, that you were true. But in the end, it was all but the dream.
Now days and months are flying. There is no time to regret anything, but you. No time to remember anything. No time to cry and worry. No time to live.
The reality was different. You were different. You had the side of you that was only for me to see- the one from the train-dream. The other side, was the real one. The one that I had to wake up to.
And I cried for you for the first time in a long time. Even though I say that I dont care, that it's all good, and that you weren't worth anything I gave to you, I know that to a certain point, it's something that I just tell myself to let the dream go away. Hoping it would never come back. But it does come back- the dream of the uneven train-station pavement that was at the end of the road; of the city at the other end of the world; the guest bed that was waiting for me.
And I realise I would always be in the guest-bed. Always. Never to go beyond that point. Never to be more than a friend that has the status of a guest that visits you every now and again. And vice versa honey. We would never make it beyond the 'guest visiting' point. No never.
And in the summer sky I look for the stars that I watch, but do not see. And I remember the promise the stars once made to me- that you will be with me forever. The stars- that you also took away from me. I cant stand them in the clear night sky- the night are lonely now, the stars are dead. Just like you.
You see honey- the thing is, even the skies lied to us.
But I'm on the train again. On a train that will lead me nowhere. No specific place, no specific person waiting, no time specified.
And I wake up from the train-dream. You know honey, I get them often now. And on the train I want to dream- to dream and to believe, that I don't remember anything about us. Anything about you, about your existence. But what we want, isn't always what we get. So on the train I dream of the future that has been taken away from me, the "me" that isn't here anymore. Futureless, hopeless, heartless.
In my train-dreams I am Ms. Nobody. 

Dead man.

It has never been so empty here.
In the barren land of my heart. It's like nothing would ever live there. You left me thinking everything I was was useless.
But I'm in love with you dead. In love with the picture of the never-coming back you. You were made up, always. Always imagined, virtual. Always different in my head. Better. Mine.
But it's so beautiful- the thought of you never existing. And yet it hurts- not the fact that you are gone. But the fact that it's never been so empty. So quiet. I'm alone. Dead.
Dead to every man that will ever look at me. I don't want them, I dont want to be alone. And I don't want compromises. And in the end, I dont know what I want. I want nothing in particular, nothing we could name. Nothing that involves trusting people. Nothing.
Do you know, that sometimes I wake up at night, just to say how much I hate you? And I do hate you. I hate you for coming back to me in my head every night. The more I want to forget, the more often you come back. And I dont want you to come back. Never again.
Dead men dont come back. Never ever. And that's what keeps making me happy- the fact that youre dead. Dead to me.

I wish you all the worst, honey. All the worst.
Love- the one who kills you every night.
xoxo

Wide Open

I have given up my Ireland for us. The place of peace, of beauty in its simplest form. I have given up my hopes of a life that would be much easier, that would be careless. But I quit it all just for this one thing that was as unsure as anything would ever be. I threw her away, seeing no other way. Seeing nothing better that was waiting for me after that sacrifice.
And I didn't miss her for months. Until the wounds began to form, slowly, one by one opening wide, revealing what lie inside. The flesh that became useless, the blood that was running cold, the heart that stopped beating sooner that we expected.
I began to imagine my parallel life in there. Another "me" in there, back in her arms, feeling safe. A "me" without you. A "me" without the sacrifice of my home, my hopes and carelessness. Back in her arms again, reliving the childhood that would never end. Making me feel safe. No cares, no worries. Just life.
But I always had you. You to comfort, you to help, you to love and feel safe. And with time even that became a blur, a dream, an imagining just as it used to be before.
I came to the starting point of imagination. Dreaming one life and living another. Regrets were coming in and out. Leaving me thinking if I made the right choices. If you were the choice worth of giving up everything I knew. If we were worth of me quitting the safety zone. If all this platonic love was worth the jump into the deep waters that were waiting for me in a place so unknown, and so unsure as Poland was to me back then.
Now I know there is no such thing as the wrong choice or the right choice. Now I know there are decisions braver and safer. There's just people in love, ready for changes, and there's people who will never love- ready to give up nothing.
I made the brave decision. I took the step forward, to be closer to you, to us. To myself even.
There was never a time of baby-steps. I threw myself into all of this straight away, without hesitation, without over-thinking. I became brave over night. Because of you. Or at least that's what I thought at the start. Later I realised you needed me, the comfort of my arms and the soft whisper of my voice more than I needed yours since the life in here began.
This time we swap roles. This time you were the one seeking help, you were the one that was lost. Because your time of carelessness was running low and you were scared. And I understood that, because I went through exactly- or maybe worse- same thing a year before. But you couldn't accept it. You couldnt imagine yourself growing up honey, making me notice how much I-myself- have changed.
How I evolved from what I was in Ireland's arms and what I am here.
I started to need noone to help or to direct me what to do. I knew the solutions myself, I started telling you, or anyone else less about the things that were wrong. And there were less of the anyway, because I knew how to deal with them. Because instead of crying on the problem, I looked for solutions. And you were the opposite.

All of this, all of the life I knew in here, back in my Ireland seems to be a dream that was just taking place. That none of this ever happened. That my Ireland never existed, that my love to you never existed, that the happiness we had was never real. That all of this was a dream directed by you.
But I was the one to decide when to wake up. But it's hard. Sometimes I feel as if I was still being kept under the slumber. By you or by the arms of Ireland that will never be mine again. You took everything from me. Everything. My Ireland, my love, the life that was growing inside me.
You took it all, tearing the wounds wide open again. Making the blood freeze, the heart stop.
You killed the girl that was once yours. The girl that was so in love with the wrong world. The world she knew in Ireland. But you killed long ago- on the day she was leaving her Eire for the last time.



 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S91lMr9TsVI&list=PL47835BDF5D113F07

Viva la Vida

"What I've felt 
What I've known 
Never shined through in what I've shown "

And maybe I didn't. And neither did you.
 We were living the sweet lie you were whispering every night, making me believe. Making life holy. I was living it all for you, for us. To feel I'm wanted. And I was pushing the thought away, the thought of you leaving me as days passed.I wanted to give it all to you, to have nothing to hide. And finally, I reached a point when there was nothing else to give. Your disappointment was hard to hide, but there was nothing I could do about it. So I took the blame. I was the one to be called guilty.
 Everything that was going wrong, was my fault. I took the burden of blame on my own shoulders, hoping you would see. Hoping you would finally love. But instead you started hating, pushing me away, your words becoming empty. Sharp as a blade, cutting me so sweetly. And I wouldn't hesitate to ask for more. I always wanted more of you.When you pushed my hands away "not now. We have thing to do" for the first time I ignored it. Some time after you became tired of pushing me away. 
Days filled with your ignorance and unanswered calls passed and I was still taking the blade deeper into my heart. I realised the lie that hurt. For four years I've been imagining that moment and always I've thought I'd leave it all behind. That I'd run away, strong and without regrets. But as we all know imaginings are far from the truth. Instead I fell deeper into us. 
I wanted to hear the simple three words, ignoring what I already knew. I wanted it, no matter what. I wanted you, I wanted us. I wanted the lies, the played touch of your hands, the game. I wanted all that was killing me. But the game wasn't amusing you anymore. And sometimes I feel nothing. I inhale the loneliness mixed with oncoming summer. I inhale on everything that I never had to feel before. Because you always were. And the thing that hurts the most is the fact that I do not remember anything before you.
 Every moment of hope, every moment of sadness and doubt I would share with you. I was sharing my life with you for the past four years and I cannot, no matter what, look beyond the starting point. It just doesnt exist. It seems as if there was no life before you. As if I never existed before. But there is life after you. There is.

And so I inhale deeply the loneliness mixed with 4am morning air thinking of life that is there yet for me. Thinking of life that you have taken and given back, teaching me who I was and what I wanted from myself. Other than you, I wanted to find myself. And I did. But at what price. Just for you, for all these sleepless nights of tears and chest-ripping pain of my heart I will call you the unforgiven. 
And I will utter "viva la vida" as I exhale the last breaths of us. 

Heartbeats speak your name

All those nights you leave me in my head. Those nightmares of being alone, of feeling the ghosts rising. Feeling their breaths on my night-cold skin. They freeze, they take me in. Into the cold.
Into the coldness of the lonely. Of everything I hate so much. They push me into nothing. The cold space of the aftermath of your kiss feels like heaven, though I know they will wake me up.
So I wander, so I suffer as I get used to the darkness of what's left of us.
Here they come again. They catch me as I fall and as they touch me, I become one of them.
I am the ghost, I wander, wait for the fallen. Pray for the sins of broken love.
What have we become? Can you hear it?
It's the silence thats between us, it grows, and  takes us in. She became a part of us. It speaks for us in the dark. She watches us fall and cry. We can't kill her, she has the knives. One move and she'll get us. The silence of our love. What have we become to take them in? To take another ghost into us.

Will we live? Or will we die?
Rip my chest open, take out my heart. Keep it beating in your hand. Can you feel it? It's all yours.
But I am the ghost, and you can't see nor hear me. I'm not there for you.
You let me go with them. To be like them. To walk forever and watch the darkness inside you grow. There's nothing I can do about it anymore, I can't stop you from going the other way.
I am the ghost of your loving and I cannot stop you. I can only let you push me into nothing.
As you did before.
I'm not afraid, I have lived through it. I can go again. Until the day my heart stops beating your name.
Let the ghosts take me in, let them take me love. We'll be back for you one day. 

A country of doubts

Welcome to Poland. A country where anything is possible. Where the cars for sale were originally bought from ''friends in Germany" and the Bruno Gabbani perfume are an absolute hit, and of course, it's original. No-one spots the difference anyway.
Welcome to a country where the ladies break their high-heels on the level pavements, that still remember the second world war. Where patriotism is seen as to who beats more faces on the football match; who throws the rocket on the pitch first.
The smoke in metres tall chimneys welcomes me in the city of what was once a power of European sea-trade. Now just a pass-by port, hardly even remembered by the eldest. It's important to remember.
The plaster on the walls of the opposite apartment blocks have seen more things than half of the people living there together could remember. And probably these walls will outlive them aswell.
A guy at the train station hands me a free newspaper that I throw in the bin as soon as I pass him. The joys. Recycling here, anyway, is I think, at it's worst. But well, what can we do. Anyway all that matters is the airplane crash we're all sick of by now.

Welcome to a country ruled for money. It's ok, as long as the ministers are ok. And as I look at their faces on the billboards, I wonder what the fuck was wrong with me to think that coming back here was a good idea. And then I look out the tram window and see the river, and the old buildings, the chimneys, the barges. The rising sun. The monuments. The quintessence of beauty I've been missing for the whole six years. And then I remember why I'm here.
Even if the people have facial expressions equal to the one of a woman that has been fucked by a bull and she didnt quite like it. They look at you. Up. Down. Up and down. Several times. Just to check if your shoes are original, if your scarf was expensive enough and if you hair needs cutting. Typical and very easy to get used to. You just have to have the same facial expression. And you'll be fine. The best of all are the grandmas in the bus stop. Their Adidas jackets, berets, tesco bags, sandals and socks. The key to the polish-senior haute couture.
Sometimes I wake up, and get ready for college, and wonder if it was a good decision. Was it worth it. And as soon as I get to college, I dont regret anything. I forget about every doubt. Because I have them, and I have him. I have all it takes to be happy.
It's not perfect, and probably never will be. A plain person can never have it easy in this country of corruption and evil twins. But, I will always be happy. Because I got, what I wanted. And I have no right to doubt the happiness that is yet to come.
Welcome to Poland. A country of stolen German cars, old buildings that will never be renovated and doctors that dont care if youre dying or not. They need their coffee more than anything.
Welcome to Poland. A country which is fun to live in.




My name's Joanna Łaska, and this is Jackass. 

From Dust

Here it is again. This time of the year when I'm coming in touch with something more. I don't know why it's in september when it happens. When I can feel everything in a completely new way. And I forgot about this. I thought it has left me for good, this state. A state of absolute awareness of time, of the changes that take place around me. Awareness of self.
I knew I would have to go through it in September. The one month of absolute isolation. When the school starts and the only people I know (all three of them) are too busy to care less. But I wasn't ready. September hit me with its full force, making me feel as if I had to respawn in a while. But it's not working out.
I feel as if all the server's were busy and I have to wait. So I wait. Wait for all of my thoughts to come out of their hiding places. I wait for them to be everywhere, to be loud, vivid, so I could give them new direction and force. Maybe then, I'll be able to function properly.
And it's not how I expected it to be, to look. The whole idea of moving places would be the worst decision of my life if it wasnt for him. But he's here, somewhere and it keeps me alive. Makes me want to change. Makes me want to fix everything that I successfully managed to turn into dust.
From dust everything will rise. How many times before everything was in ruins and I had noone but me to fix it? How many times before was I alone? There's plenty of experience, plenty of scenes and memories that remind me of how to deal with it. And I'll rebuilt it. From dust I will built everything, brick by brick, word by word, breath by breath. From dust another 'new' will rise.
Let us create. Let us create.
All of this is making me stronger, believe it or not. I have left the country of my heart, my Eire, my lovely Eire; I have said my goodbyes with all of the people I cared about out there, I have to learn, still learn how to live in this country of new, I had and quickly lost a job, I will probably never have the Pardalis I'd wanted to have since last December and I probably will not have any money this year. And of course, I keep on ruining the most important thing to me. Love.
But all of this gives me strength, in some way. More or less. But it does. And it's beautiful. All of this. The place where I live, I really cant think of a place more beautiful than my neighbourhood. One day I'll show you. I promise. Even life here has its bright sides, Poland herself too. But only when I know he's mine.
As long as we're together and he's with me, I know I can achieve anything I wish. My motivation, my smile. My life.
But it's autumn now, a time of lemon tea with honey and orange leaves falling to my feet. And this is when I'm becoming aware of what I knew would happen. The time of utterly lonely days and nights. Time when I can set my thoughts free, let them have some fresh air and then call them home, so that I can put them back on the shelves. It's not easy. It never was. But it's good. Times like this make me feel... that I can do something, and do it good. Even if you think none of this is worth reading, I'm still proud of myself. Really. Doing the housekeeping on my thoughts, my mind and giving them shape and form satisfies me. And if you told me to leave it, to leave writing forever, I'd probably slap you in the face. With a brick. With blades on it. Really.
So let me create.