Buried Bliss and Comfort’s Fast Decay

Winter came late this time and

as I strolled Warsaw’s cobblestone pavement

as my hands were pressed against the insides of my pockets

as I found snowflakes in the corners of my squinted eyes, making my sight blurry,

I met a lady outside of her shop.

She stood there and had a smoke, a cold one. A smoke with wind in the back of her neck and around her ankles.

„Warsaw is rather cruel to you“, I said, but I guess she didn’t hear me.

Maybe I didn’t say it out loud.