Category: Stories & Poetry
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“From sharing traditional Silesian Szkloki sweets with a constellation of local schoolgirls to witnessing a perfectly synchronized, carefree performance on a June hillside, my time on the rails proved one thing: Silesia always has a habit of surprising you when you least expect it.”
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Regular Polish commuters knew exactly which seats to avoid on a freezing winter evening. I, however, spotted a row of empty seats during rush hour and celebrated my ‘miracle’—unaware that the heater beneath me was operating at a magnificent, ankle-liquefying Soviet-era level…”
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Footprints — September sunshine. The sound of rolling waves.
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Walking into it felt like entering a small, bustling theatre where everyone except me already knew their lines.
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You weren’t there to linger. You were there to take part in a ritual that had existed long before you arrived and would continue long after you left.
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“This last thing is not a meal… it’s a container for food if you want to take it away.”
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Nothing must happen to them.
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… the faint rustle of wrapping paper, and the subtle clink of scales — a choreography perfected over decades.
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“OTWIERAMY DRUGĄ KASĘ!”
