Ghosts to Carry, Stories to Keep
Where memory meets the page, one moment at a time.
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about
Two-wheel traveller, occasional worker, and quiet recorder of old moments. Writing vignettes, short pieces, and poetry about past lives, daily routines, and the space between memory and place.
Tag: Język polski
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But I can also see now — with the distance of time — that I didn’t do it alone.
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… leaving only the warm air trembling in her wake
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… the kind where you turn a key and a steel bar slides through the spokes with a satisfying clunk. Park, click, walk away. Utterly civilised.
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… she demanded: “Co tam takiego ciekawego do fotografowania?”
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And yes, it features a possessed bicycle.
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I heard the rain first — soft taps against the bedroom window…
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Only later did I learn that dedicated tram enthusiasts have a name for travelling around just to see them: tram bashing.
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Tonight, the candle keeps its gentle vigil, burning for two, though only I sit near.