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.

Fighting Poland

There's still signs of Poland fighting. Through the curtains and chimneys of communism Poland rises in this town. The Stalin Star becomes a symbol of war for many of us. Poland naturally becomes clearer. The more footsteps of communism I see, the more I love her. Poland, for what she was and always will be for us. The Polish nation will never notice the change. They pass the old communist party houses, they work in offices built by the communist. They even live in communist blocks in the ''West Estate" at the end of the town. But they dont seem to remember. What she had to go through, what she had to see to   look the way she looks now. With her curtains made of pain and pride remembers the old when she  faces the new offices and apartments being built next to her windows.
To me, the new doesnt look good in this place. I think it's the old, the gray, the walls with clay falling off that make Poland what she really is. This is exactly, what makes her my home.
It's not easy. Being here. Living here and trying to be happy. But I never expected things to be easy in a place where the cashiers at Tesco have the look on their faces as if they were going through a constipation of their lives, and where you have to mind your things before they get stolen. By a twelve year old gypsy girl. In a wheelchair. On ice.
(Ok, maybe not on ice. But you get the idea.)
And to be completely honest with you I never even wanted it to be easy here. I wanted to be so busy, to have so many things to do, that I would hardly find the time to sleep. I wanted to go from a person that used to leave everything for the next day, to a person that had everything done the day before the schedule. That's what I wanted, and what I have gotten. But I never really realised what all of these things that I had to do, to think about, to help with would do to me. To me as a character, a mind, a soul. A person as a whole. I have never really thought that making my dreams come true would make me feel so bad with myself. But then again, it's hard to see anything good about yourself when you barely have the time to read a text message. Not to mention hobbies and interests.
I'm not talented in any way, Ive lost all of my interests since I left Poland, there is nothing I am good at. And yet I think, I am happy living in a country that has so many things to offer me, so many things to teach me. I have lived my things in Eire. I have seen my things in Eire. She has thought me how to be myself. But all of this will not pass me in here. It's different. It's difficult. And this is, what I love about Poland.
I now see her through the eyes of a young adult that has to organise her own life, her own time and money, and not through the eyes of a ten year old girl who cannot go to the city centre without her momma. Things have changed. I have changed. The things Eire has taught me, I will remember and take to my grave with me, even though the knowledge I gained there will very rarely come to a use in Poland. But is it bad? I don't think so.
Will I make it here? Will I keep on changing for better? Will I chase after my dreams and will I eventually become and interesting person? Maybe. Or maybe not.
You'll never know. And that's what beautiful.
It really is. 

lack of trust, scars and other synonyms

They say men don't cry. I think it takes a real man to show his tears in moments of an absolute emotional intensity.
They say money can't buy us happiness. But it can buy train tickets to a beloved one far away; and being with that person equals happiness.
They say jealousy is born from lack of trust. I say it's born at the bottom of our subconsciousness which is filled with complex fears collected all along.
 Opinion of the public, the general, the 'all' is not important. It does not matter. It never did and never really will matter, nor come to any use. It will not affect our lives in any way. It may of course affect our actions, thoughts and point of view, but it's all but permanent. If we were to listen to the voice of others we would generally assume that a man that cries is not a man at all, a train ticket to see your love
is nothing but a piece of paper that you find on a pathway, and that jealousy should be taken as a sign of lack of trust in the other person we would all loose the last pieces of faith long ago.
Then why even care about the opinion of others? Cant we just simply let them talk, let them have their own point of view and still be unaffected by it. Too often, opinion of the public shapes our beliefs, our thoughts and words. Too often we base our answers on what others have already said. Why cant we simply get in the habit of independent thinking and shaping our own point of view?

So I say- tears make a real man. Money can indeed buy us happiness and jealousy is not synonymous to 'lack of trust'.
Jealousy is rather a form of fear, which sometimes reaches its extremities, slowly making its way from the bottom of the previously hurt subconsciousness to the heart and spreading rapidly to the blood-system making you feel as if nothing could get as terrifying as this.  One, theoretically small impulse can make your hands shake, your heart race, your legs numb, your face is covered in tears in seconds, your lungs forget how to work. Your surroundings become a blur and all you want is to run and hide forever. Not because you feel betrayed, but because you feel worse, disappointed, worthless. You can't do anything about it. And I can't do anything about it.
It feels as if everything you thought you meant to that person was built on an unstable ground, as if he decided to show you there still is someone more important, or at least, as important as you are. That you will never be THE most important person in his life. And it hurts double as much if you have experienced something like this before from the same person and the wounds aren't fully healed yet. He made you believe you are not important to him once, he can do it much easier the second time. That's the way it works.
Even if you know he loves you, even if you know you're the only one, it will not be possible to fully assure you that you're the most important person to him in a long, long time. Old wounds make foundation for our fears and beliefs. And it's not that you don't trust him, it's the old wounds that don't let you be completely sure. It's like a door that you try to close, but there's something stuck in the door frame and you can't close it completely. That's how it works.
So I say- jealousy is not about the lack of trust, but from fear of being hurt again. And nothing will ever change it. Nothing will ever fix it. The wounds may eventually heal but the scars will always be there. Always visible and always in the way. 

9 weeks

There is no continuous happiness in this place anymore. And there was, at some stage what I call happiness. Because how could I possibly call it? A state of mind where nothing nor noone is against you. Where everything remains stationary, unchangeable, unexciting and... undisturbed. My own little state of mind where nothing is new nor old, nothing is dangerous nor safe. Nothing. A complete nothingness which I thought could be named 'happiness' as long as it doesn't cause me trouble. And it didn't. Not even once in a very long, long time.
And now I'm starting to realise, that being happy isn't exactly being undisturbed in a way I live- or exist should I say- and being caught up in a monotony of a rather peaceful life. I now see, there are only occasional moments of the so called 'happiness', which for other people may be just another minor excitement in their lives.
And I cannot honestly say that I'm utterly unhappy. While I am. In a way that I can't either express or describe. There's noone I could share that happiness with, or there's no need of rubbing it into people's faces. Let's face it, Ireland has literally and unfortunately become a place of complete emptiness to me. It was indeed, a home to me for the past 6 years. But then I learned how it feels to be in his arms, in the warmth of our own, private heaven. 
I do not feel at home here anymore. With all my love to Eire, I cannot force myself to call it my home anymore. I cannot possibly call it a 'home' when he's not here.
And the longer I wait the longer the days seem to be. The harder I try not think about the fact that I must live in this state of never-ending solitary for another 9 weeks, the harder it gets for me to get through the day. The more I think of how happy I am to be his, to finally have him, the more I miss him. And it's natural, I know, but it's all I can do right now.
There's nothing else left for me to do other than to miss him, and count the days to go.
To go and finally be home. I just want to be there. In a completely new place, so unknown and so goddamn exciting as it is. In its simplicity and glory almost, I feel safe. I feel at home. And when he's there as well, then I cannot imagine a person to be happier than myself.
Being with him is something completely different, something completely new. And I can tell you one thing, there is no other man in the world that did or would make me as happy as he himself does.
I love being his, I love the hard heartbeat of his heart.
I love loving him.
And if you would ask me to define 'happiness' to you, I'd tell you his name.

the moment we find out about lies

so tell me, my hero, what is your plan now? will you even think of fixing it or will you just let it be. let it stay the way it is? when will you finally tell me it was nothing but a lie? but the most important question is- will you even have the guts to do so?
ah. you wanted to be the bravest man in the world, you wanted to be the most dangerous, serious and so motherfucking perfect in you actions, but you missed one, very important aspect of your life- you forgot to tell the truth. and the funny thing is- i dont care enough to even shed a tear over it. i dont care, i dont want, i dont miss. i hope it just sounds familiar to you, my hero. i really do hope so.
and now excuse me, i've got more important things to do in my life than wait for this pointless action our talks became.
you live your own life at the moment, maybe, just maybe, it's the perfect time for me to start living myself? maybe i should quit the hopeless waiting? what is there to wait for anyway? everlasting happiness? the so called love? do you really believe in these things? do you really think they exist, and even if they do, were they made for us to enjoy? i dont think so.
all i expect from you is truth. all i need is your proper, full-detail explanation of how things really were. i will now go and focus on the things i hate about you. while you, in the mean time can fuck yourself. 

Perfect

I would say it was all beautiful. The perfect image of living. The greens, yellows and reds, all bathed in the evening sun, laying on a backdrop of grey and navy rain beds. I would say even the mud-brown field surrounded by autumn trees was beautiful. But then again it's difficult for me to see anything beautiful when I know I partially don't belong to You anymore.

You are a godlike hero with power of life and death. Pockets full of stones.  Everlasting battle for survival.
What is an ordinary human to You? Why would You miss, want or love?

I'm no source of power. I'm no source of beauty nor pleasure. I have nothing to offer and yet I'd give away everything and anything for You. Why would You accept my life, my mind or my body? Why would You wish to have these things if You can have all the money, all the lives that exist in the entire universe?
I'm just another heartbeat among many pulses You can take away with a click of Your fingers. I'm just another lifeless breath and yet, I gasp for You.
Why do You love, my hero? I cannot understand why You'd like to spare the meaningless flow of sweet blood through my veins. What is it, that stops You from crushing me into pieces?

And yet, I do not want you. I do not want to be forced to be happy with someone I don't need. Guess why? I probably will always belong to somebody else. 

Religion

God- by leaving me two or 3 years ago showed me that faith is only a word and that religion doesn't have to mean to be down on your knees praying to some ghostly creature people tend to believe in; saints arent always good people and that prayers dont have to have a deeper spiritual meaning at all.
For some people music is their religion, as they say. Some may think art, others- pure laziness.
But theres a good few people who may say that it's love who they consider as their religion.
What do they really mean by this? Is it praying for love, praising the person they love or are they on a ''spread-the-love'' mission? Or is it when you know the melody of his heartbeat perfectly well and still want to listen to it all the time; or when you look into his eyes and you know this is the man you've been waiting for to save you;
Is it religion or is it still love? Or maybe religion really means to love something. To love somebody...?  Maybe it's the way you think of it, what you feel when you do so. This feeling of awe when he touches you, this utterly absurd rush of blood when he looks at you the way you love it, this feeling of... of heaven when he's beside you. Maybe to be in love means to be... in your own heaven? In a place where all the pain and worries of the ordinary, day-to-day life seem to be not your case any-more, a place when you are more than fully yourself and you know he loves it. And when he's not there with you, you feel as if your God left you, as if you belonged to no religion at all, and everything seems as right as wrong.
Maybe, just maybe, that's what it is.
But I guess, I'll never find it out. 

2000 Miles From Freedom

If we could only be quicker on the 2000 mile long road to freedom. Freedom from everything that's keeping me away from myself. It became dusty and rusty from waiting, from miserable efforts of escaping. It forgot how to function in real life. It forgot how to give me what I want. It can't be what I want if there's always something stopping me from running it. If I cant help my life, how can it help me?
But don't worry my friend, we'll be there in a while. Don't worry, I'll let you be free, and you, will show me how to live again.
After we pass the 2000 mile long road to freedom, we'll be the happiest creatures in the world. Me, and you, my dear friend, my life. We've been a waste for the past 3 months, whatever happened to us, we'll be fine in few hours. Just living it. Enjoying the moments of truth and laughs. We'd be surrounded by smoke and smell of happiness. We'll forget about everything, we'll delete the past, forget about the future. We'll stop planning everything and just run, hoping we won't be late.
So spontaneous and wild. So vivid, powerful and mine. So... free.
We will feel the sun on our skin, we will feel it really sinking in. It will be all ours.
We'll fall asleep on the beach, wake up in the forests and laugh in the streets of a busy city. We will do all that and lots more. We, my dear friend, will be free again.

We, will be ourselves, for the first time without him.

Your Majesty

Let me kiss your crown for the last time. Let me take one more look. Let me tell you I will always be curious before I go. Let me feel I'm yours for the last second.

You were my heaven and my hell. You were fire, water, air and earth of my existence. You made me think everything lasts forever. I was waiting for this time of THIS year for the past 2 years, just for you. I was waiting, expecting the best, loving you like the idiot I was, and of course, I was yours. Every time I needed help, I turned to you, every time I needed YOU, you were there. Whatever you said, I made it holy, whatever you thought I made it words, whatever you taught me, I still can't deny.  Anything that had anything to do with you, was untouchable, protected by my love to you, sacred. Anything you told me to do, or to stop doing, I'd do so. I was listening to you, because I knew you were always right. (Dude, you made me like dubstep, and that's pretty something).
You, you were the most irresistible and arrogant man I have ever had anything to do with in my entire life.
 And to be honest with you, your excuses were always good. They seemed...rational and always probable. God. And I was letting you fool me for all this time, I guess, I wanted to be lied to by you, rather than not having you at all. And yes, I was yours. More than you ever imagined anything to be yours. I remember you saying 'I will always love you', and now, this moment, I can easily say- BULLSHIT. Bullshit.

I was always scared of losing you, always wondering if you were happy enough  with me. If I was enough for you. And every time I'd hear a long monologue from you about how wonderful I was, how happy you are (sorry, WERE, is the word)  with me and how you'd never want anyone but me, and I, being me, I would argue, telling you there's someone better than me out there and that you should more than likely be with her instead of me, and then you'd tell me to shut the fuck up and that you'd never leave me, even for Johnny Depp. Then I'd be grumpy for the rest of the day, still imagining you with some other girl, and I'd be mad with you only because my imagination was too crazy. You'd be brief when talking to me, angry even though you were trying to hide it, and still, you'd tell me a million times over and over again you loved me more than your own life and still, I would argue...  how much of a stupid idiot I was to doubt it? Wasn't anything you said true and 'sacred'? Shouldn't I believe you? Shouldn't I just shut the fuck up and tell you I loved you too, instead of arguing? Maybe, if I didn't want to argue that much you'd still be mine?
I was so scared of losing you that I was mad with you for being mine. God, it sounds ridiculous. I just hope it makes sense to you, my dear readers, as much as it makes sense to me.
And what hurts the most is that I WAS right in the end. You DID end up with someone better than me. You DID decide you'd be happier with someone else. Even though you promised you'll always love me, even if you'd end up with someone else. Bullshit, once again. But you can't be in a happy relationship with one girl and still 'always love' other one. That's just not right, and you do only the right things. OK, I already accepted it, that you're happy, living your life with some girl I don't even know. Im guessing she's amazingly pretty, intelligent, funny and yours. I'm also guessing she loves you, (I mean, how can anyone NOT love you?), and I'm guessing you hold hands most of the time, you kiss her neck and hug her in front of your friends. I'm almost sure you tell her you love her every single minute of your day and I'm almost sure you two are happy together. 

For Lara

In the end it all comes to nothing. We end where we have began. In nothingness, with nothing, feeling nothing.
We shouldn't give our lives away to someone we haven't even met. To someone who stole us away, but still someone that cannot touch us.
And just because we are only humans, we are greedy, selfish and completely out of mind, losing control of time, feelings, ourselves. Haven't you notice the most obvious of all obvious things- that in fact, everything is changing at extremely huge speed, without any restrictions? That we, as creatures of vulnerable hearts and huge desire for love, started to lose our minds, our common sense, our fucking logic?!
Where did it go? Who has all these things now? When did it happen? How could we possibly let that happen? Did love blind both of us so much, that we forgot the reason of our journey?
We couldn't possibly love. Not them. Not now. Not like this. There was no possible way of working that out. It was something we could run away to, it was something new and something different. Our escapes, our dreams and matrix-like experiences. But whatever happens in Matrix, stays in Matrix. It could of been love, but with people of dream-like quality, with people who were never ours to have, who were never parts of our lives, ''lover''.
We could hurt them, we could make them laugh and upset them. But didn't they do the same things to us? Couldn't they just think of us as escapes? And escapes aren't always permanent. They aren't always real. Sometimes, they don't even exist. And, so, if we didn't exist for them, why should they exist for us?
Of course, it's going to hurt like a motherfucker, but we will make it our own way, we will be ''better tomorrow''. Each and every night is adequate to one chapter of our story that we finish writing. It will end sooner that we expect it to end. Inhale. Exhale. Let go.
I'm not saying that we will be all right in a day or two. It needs time. We need time. And when everything will be healed and the only thing left will be simple curiosity, we can always escape, to them, to the things we wanted to have and do with them. We can always escape to the past dreams of future. See, sometimes, future is past even before present happens.
Lover, there's a heaven above us. We'll manage.
We have each other. Our situations are the same, but with completely different people.
We are strong. We can let them go.

...And please don't cry.

When Future Never Happens

And here we go again. Home alone, cold and hungover.

I can say Im enjoying the sound of silence now, of course, only because my head wouldn't take louder sounds today. But anyway, I wont be so fond of silence tomorrow, if it happens. And of course, more than likely, it will happen, it will get me.
I always wanted more than I could ever lift. I wanted more and more even though I had almost everything. Almost.  I wanted to have everything closer than close enough, now I don't have it at all.
I wanted to discover new lands and by sailing into unknown I ended up in my own head. I woke up and now I know that everything I ever wanted, everything I ever thought I had was only a weightless illusion. And so, I let it fall into a great canyon of my own dreams. But just because I'm telling myself and the rest of the world that it's over, that I'm done with it, that I'm free, doesn't really mean that it's actually the end.
I'm a very complicated character in this play, sometimes, even Hamlet in all his "antic-disposition" would be easier to understand than me. Sometimes I think that it's water that keeps the fire burning, sometimes I think it's hatred that causes love. Even the most gentle whisper can cause avalanche. I don't seem to be using any logic now, ah?
It wasn't always like that. I had a brain once. I used to think logically, believe it or not. Before I let him happen, before I let us happen, and before I let the unknown happen I actually thought about it- for a very long time. I knew there would be no happy ending and still I did let it happen. Ah stupid 14 years old child. And since then my heart was always one step ahead of my logic.
Nothing would ever change it, nothing would ever help it. It was meant to be like this, we were meant to end up like this. There was no way for something like that to work.
I was falling asleep in your arms, I was waking up to your whispers, we were sitting on the roofs of the tallest buildings, I used to play with your hair when watching movies, even though, you were never here.
If it was only possible to write it all down, to write YOU down on a sheet of paper... I would leave you to the rain and let it wash the ink away, then, if there was anything left I'd give you to the fire. Maybe this would help.
Sometimes I regret that I even have Dulux, it's all his fault. Sometimes I regret being so naive. Sometimes, I regret loving you.
But then again, I knew well enough what I was getting myself into. I knew about the 2000 miles between us, and I knew about the difficulty of it all, and still I wanted you.

I always wanted more of you, I could never get enough.
I always wanted you.
I still do.

Love, Hope and Other Sins

I wouldn't write that if Nuno didn't ask me to. Uh. He's not going to like it.

I hate that time of each day. The time of me being surrounded by everything I hate so much.
Silence- nothing I can do about it. Nothing to make it go away. Nothing to say, nothing to do, but to think. I hate the way I have the tendency to think too much about the same thing over and over again. I try to re-imagine the things that would happen, the things that would make me the happiest person in the world. But then again, I cannot, I just can't relive the feeling of having hope.
Now, I'm stripped of any positive sense of thinking. At least back then, I used to have the comfort of hope, but now, I can't even believe in hope. No hope in hope.
Some nights are very difficult. When I can't fall asleep for a very long time, when I try to imagine possible answers to my never-ending 'why's'. And most of all, I try to imagine him, in all his glory, finding me. Coming back.
Why? I don't know. I guess that's just how much I miss him.
Sometimes, I wake up at night just to whisper his name, the sweetest name of all names, turn around and pretend I'm facing him and fall asleep again. Calmly this time.
I can't think about anything else but him. I can't imagine anything but him. I've learned to sacrifice my thoughts entirely to him and now I can't think about anything else. I hate the idea of being a slave to my own sick naiveness.
And his name- so sweet and true in my lips. His smile- the best in the entire universe. His eyes- never to look into mine. Never.
He was mine but then again I never really had him. I was his entirely but never his to touch.
And when I think about it, I can assure each and everyone of you that I will always be his. Even if I'll end up living happily ever after with someone else I will always be his. His truly. I will always belong to him- the one who stole me from myself.
I used to be so happy that I even asked gods to give me something to cry about. And they wouldn't listen to me. They wouldn't until April. In April they gave me tears made of my happiness. They turned my smiles and love into never-ending sequence of tears. If I could, if I only could I'd fly to him and beg him to have me back, and in my dreams he would have me in his arms. But of course none of this is going to happen. And of course, his eyes aren't mine to look into.
Nothing ever gets better. Never.

Rain

    I've been thinking about It a little recently- about, what would I actually write here. And I realised there's so much I'd like to write about at the moment. Everything is happening so quickly, sometimes, I get the feeling that I'm falling thirty seconds behind the time. But it wasn't always like this.
   ''I'm taking a walk in a pouring rain, without my umbrella. What's the point of bringing my umbrella if it's going to break straight after I open it? I can see raindrops on my hair, hear the splashing of water underneath my feet...'' which reminds me of careless childhood days in Poland. We would pretend to be ''Tomb Raiders'', ''Totally Spies'' and ''Powerpuff girls'', even if it rained. To be honest, we didn't like playing when the weather was nice. A nice weather meant that the possibilities of getting dirt all over your clothes and yourself were small, and the more dirty your clothes were, the better. ''Cause Lara Croft isn't scared to have dirt on her shirt''.
''I pass by a row of lime trees. Their sweet smell mixed with rain. That is the only place in Ireland that smells, and almost feels like Poland. And of course, I'm only after realising that just now.'' When I was eleven years of age, and I moved to Ireland, I missed (the so called) 'home' for a very long time. I was just a kid when I had to start 'all over again' in a completely new country, with a completely new people and a language in which I could only say 'yes, no and coca-cola' when I first came here. It wasn't easy to accept new things all at once, I guess, that one of the hardest things to accept about Ireland was the fact that Irish people tend to drive upstream... But I got used to it, in the end, just as I got used to the rain. And I must admit, I started to like it, even in huge amounts Ireland offers us.
As the time passed, I started to get to know new people, I learned 'communicative' English very quickly, well, thanks to my nerdy nature. As I talked to more and more Irish people, and improved my English time by picking up few new words a day, I learned the great differences between Irish and Polish people. In the end, at the age of 13, I ended up surrounded only by Irish people.
'' I look around. Looking at my Ireland around me. Trying to memorise it as much as possible. I'm going to need these memories, these details. I see a man in a window. I smile at him, as spontaneously as I used to do when I was a child. And... he smiles back and waves at me.'' One main difference between 'Polish and Irish' is that a recipe for 'Typical Irish Character' would be :''Take a good bit of charm, joke, sympathetic frame of mind and talkativeness. Add some melancholy, day dreaming, and tendency to spontaneity. Gently steer.'', while a recipe for a 'Typical Polish Character'' (from what I have experienced in my life so far) would be: ''Take a good bit of pride, 'patriotism' and unexplained love for arguments. Add some jealousy, a tiny bit acceptance and steer'', but this 'recipe for a Polish character' isn't always correct, there are few exceptions. But when it comes to Polish people living in Ireland.. ah, they all seem to believe nothing can beat Poland nor anything that's Polish; they all seem to believe they're unbeatable. That they're a nation too good to even talk with somebody from outside of Poland. Sometimes I wonder, why such people left Poland if she is so goddamn good to them?

    ''Walking by the riverside. It started to rain again. Puddles everywhere. I jump into them feeling like a nine year old child again. Im soaked anyway. Some more water in my shoes won't make much difference.'' And I felt as if I was back in Poland again. I didnt miss it after I met her, cause everything seemed so goddamn good that I didnt want anything more.
In may 2010 Poland took her away from me. In September 2010 fifth year started and everything was going great again. All of the people that I now call my friends are the people I've been looking for, since I came here for the first time,and now, I can easily say that these people made me believe that Ireland is my home, that I fully and truly accept it, and that in fact, I absolutely love it. Since I finished any 'friendships' with any of the 'people of the past' I could think, say and be who SHE made me. Who I have always been. Inside.
   ''I stop for a while and look at the circles in the water. They never meet. No matter how big they are, or how many of them there is, they will never ever meet.'' My clothes were soaked at this stage. But I didn't care. I just kept walking through the puddles, with my head down and hood on. I realised that even though I am very happy here, in my own rainy heaven, I need changes again. I guess that's my nature, I can't be happy for a long time unless some radical changes take place in my life. And here I am, imagining my life in Poland. What would it be like if I moved back. Would I feel like a foreigner in my own country? Would I be able to be so extremely happy there, as I am here? Would I be able to accept Polish mentality on a bigger scale? I guess I wouldn't, just as I didn't accept Ireland at first, only because it dragged me away from my home. But I've been living in Ireland for 6 years now, and Ireland had enough time to inject all her good things into my brain, so I guess, going back to Poland wouldn't be as bad... And even if it wouldn't work out, I could always come back, right?
''I turn my head to the sky and let the rain tickle my face. I eventually take my hood off'''.

For you, a thousand times over

I wake up thinking what's causing all of this. I fall asleep thinking why things aren't right anymore. And of course, all I can think about are only the worst things. I guess, whoever was born pessimist will die a pessimist.
And he's so goddamn true, so so... real that he doesn't want to lie to me, or tell me the truth only because he's incapable of hurting anyone. Oh! But why now? Why just 2 months before 'the day'. Why?

We were the happiest people on Earth,
We lied in bed together. Saying nothing. Nothing at all, just staring into each other's eyes. And when I slept, I could feel your gentle touch on my arms.
We watched the stars together. We walked in the streets by night. We kissed in most crowded places. We talked, without using words. You were mine and I was yours.
And of course, none of the above ever happened. And, never will.

Can you miss a person whom, in fact, you never ever met in your life? Can you miss a person who never was there with you?

Can you wait for 2 years for a person of your dreams? Can you even function like a normal person constantly waiting? Waiting and not being sure if it will ever happen at all.
But I would do anything for him. Anything to be with him. Anything just... to see how it is like having him beside me.
''For him, a thousand times over''