Sometimes I stand on the shore of my own fears, like the edge of a pool at dawn - the water calm, smooth as glass, and I see in it the reflection of everything that has been. Old shadows, unspoken words, moments when my heart learned caution. And then I think of you.I don't want losses. I don't want profit and loss calculations, cold calculations about whether it's worth it. With you, I can't count. With you, I want to lose my head - the sensible, controlling one that keeps me safe on the shore. I want to lose it in your hands like something unnecessary, like an umbrella on a sunny day.I want to give my heart without reservation. Without the small print underneath. Without the footnote: "but if..." or "unless...". I want to tell you: take it. Take it whole, with the scars, with the history, with those trembling places that sometimes still remember how it hurt. Because even though the past can whisper at the most inopportune moment, even though sometimes in the middle of the night, the echo of old fears wakes me - I choose you. It's like jumping into deep water. I know that for a split second I'll lose my breath. I know my heart will beat faster, my body will tremble. But I also know that beneath the surface, a space awaits where I can swim without burden. And that delights me. That calls to me.Dawn has a different color with you. It's more of a promise than the end of the night. When I look into your eyes, I feel the world conjure itself - as if saying: try, dare, trust. And I want to trust. You. Myself with you.I don't promise I won't be afraid. Sometimes I'll tremble. Sometimes I'll close my eyes for a second longer before taking a step. But I will. Towards you. Always towards you.Because I don't want to live with half a breath. I don't want to love with half a heart. If I'm going to drown, it's in your arms. If I'm going to get lost, it's in your laughter.And yet, I don't feel like I'm losing anything. I feel like I'm finding something. That by jumping into this depth, I fall into the light. And that it is there, beneath the surface of fear, that our true "now" begins.

I didn't plan to become someone's light. Over the years, I'd learned to survive rather than shine. I was more alert than calm, more ready to flee than to stay. Because what I was getting was only a substitute: momentary warmth, empty promises, security that had an expiration date.And I dreamed of something else. Of a home that didn't tremble. Of arms that didn't fade. Of a gaze that said, "I am. You don't have to be afraid."I began to be an added value to him. Without calculation. Without acting.He told me that light radiated from me. And yet, I knew my shadows. He insisted that it wasn't about perfection, but about truth. That I wasn't faking it. That when I was happy, I was real. When I was afraid, I didn't hide it behind a mask of strength. That my "I believe in you" sounded as if it could lift someone's world.I watched him grow beside me. How he straightened his back. When he starts talking about tomorrow with hope, not resignation. Sometimes it's enough that I remind him who he is. Sometimes that I believe in the new when he can't. I don't push him forward. I stand beside him and shine as best I can - calmly, warmly, without blinding.And he... he becomes my anchor.For the first time in my life, I don't feel the need to check where the emergency exit is. With him, I don't have to be constantly ready to escape. His stability isn't a cage. He's grounding. His peace isn't boredom. He's security.I always thought stability was something that would hold me back, take away my freedom. But with him, I discovered that it was precisely the lack of security that kept me on edge. That true freedom begins where I don't have to fight for my place.More and more often, I find myself thinking about a haven. A house full of laughter, one that's not tense. A kitchen that smells of dinner and peace. About late-night conversations that aren't an attempt to prove anything, but rather a sharing of life. About love that isn't fireworks, but a fire in the fireplace - constant, warm, faithful.He says I give him the strength to want more. And I feel that with him, for the first time, I no longer have to run away. That I can put down roots. That I can stop searching for a substitute.Maybe that's where the real added value lies - that you not only illuminate someone's path, but also allow yourself to anchor in someone else's heart.And today, when I think about the future, I no longer see a way out. I see a harbor. Full of love. Full of understanding. And for the first time, I truly want to sail to it.

I'm fifty-four years old, and for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I have to run anywhere.The alarm clock goes off at six, as usual, but I no longer jump out of bed like a fireman to the alarm. I lie there for a moment, listen to my breathing, and think that this too is life - this peaceful inhalation and exhalation, the soft light behind the curtain, silence from the world. I used to consider it a waste of time. Today I know it's the beginning of gratitude.For years, I chased. For success, for recognition, for being "enough." There was always something to improve - at home, at work, within myself. I was as hard on myself as a teacher with a ruler. Until one day, I looked in the mirror and saw a woman tired not of failures, but of her own ruthlessness.Fifty-four isn't the end. It's an unveiling. As if someone had lifted the tight cloak of expectations from me.I want life to be light. Not because I'm running away from difficulties. Lightness isn't about being burdenless. It's about not carrying it alone.I started saying "I need it." That word wouldn't have crossed my mind before. Now I ask for help, for a conversation, for a hug. And I discover that people don't walk away when I show vulnerability. On the contrary, they come closer.I'm learning to be mindful of others, but not the nervous kind that wants to fix everything. Rather, the kind that listens without interrupting.Love has ceased to be desperation for me. It's tea served without question. It's the message "How are you feeling today?" It's acceptance that someone is having a bad day. It's also the courage to say, "This hurts me"

Many people don't believe in angels or higher powers. They say you have to see to believe. That the world is only what can be weighed, measured, and contained within logical frameworks.I do.I believe because I see more. I feel more. I hear the silence between words and the shiver in the air when someone thinks of someone with longing. I am different. To some, strange. Too sensitive. Too "detached."But that's not detachment. It's a connection.Since childhood, I've been receiving signs. Sometimes they come in dreams-the faces of those who have passed away, with a gentle smile and peace in their eyes. Sometimes they come as a sudden warmth in my chest when someone says the name of a loved one. And sometimes simply as a certainty that can't be explained by reason.Not everyone wants to hear that.Not everyone is ready for a message from someone who is already dead.I understand that. Believing in something you can't see takes courage. And accepting that the line between worlds is thinner than we think-even thinner.Today, I received a sign too.I was walking, lost in thought, and quite unexpectedly-a white feather fell right at my feet.There was no wind. There were no birds nearby. It simply fell. Gently. As if someone had placed it there especially for me.In that same moment, I felt it under my skin. That subtle tingling I knew all too well. A warmth spreading from the back of my neck to my hands. Peace.An inner certainty that everything would work out for the best. That things that seem tangled today would resolve themselves in due time.I smiled.To someone, it was just a feather. A coincidence. A coincidence.To me, it was the answer.I picked it up carefully and held it in my hand for a moment. It was soft, almost imperceptible. And yet, it carried the weight of support I so desperately needed."Thank you," I whispered.I gratefully thank the Angels for their care and guidance. For the signs I receive precisely when I begin to doubt. For reminding me that I am not alone-even when the world around me seems deaf to the whispers from Heaven.Maybe I am different.Maybe strange to some.But if "strange" means living with a sense of guidance, in a silence full of meaning, and in trust in an invisible light-I accept it with an open heart.Because I believe.I see.And I feel.

I try to remember my family apartment fondly. That doesn't mean I forget. It means I choose which images to hold closest to my heart.

Lately, I've been having a lot of conversations with myself. Real conversations, without escaping into responsibilities, without drowning out the silence with music or another episode of a TV show. I sit across from myself – sometimes at the kitchen table, sometimes on a park bench – and ask, "So, how are you? Really?"

I deserve everything that's best. What's true. What's pure. For a long time, I spoke these words hesitantly, as if they were borrowed, as if they weren't entirely mine. Today, I speak them calmly, from a place where I no longer have to explain myself or deserve more than I already am.I deserve the most beautiful, sincere love in the world. Not just to be loved by others, but also to love myself. The quiet, everyday kind when I look in the mirror in the morning and, instead of criticism, the thought appears: "Yes. I am exactly the person I want to be." Maybe not perfect yet, but true.I deserve the courage to speak my mind. Not in whispers, not in half-sentences, not out of fear of disappointing anyone. To be proud of who I am, even if not everyone likes it. I am learning to stand tall in my truth, with an open heart and a willingness to live honestly to the world and to myself. I deserve people who enter my life with tenderness, mindfulness, and good intentions. Relationships that nourish me, not hurt me. That give me space, not take my breath away. I already know that love shouldn't hurt, and intimacy shouldn't require self-sacrifice.

For a long time, my life was woven with pain, fear, and anxiety. There were days when this fear was so deep that I was out of breath, as if just breathing were too much effort. I felt fragile, shattered, lost in a world that wasn't always kind. And yet, each time, I rose to my feet. Not because it was easy, but because deep down, I knew I was worth it. That fighting for myself was worth it, even when I had no strength left.The traumas I endured weren't punishments. Today, I know they became difficult lessons-painful, but necessary. They taught me boundaries, mindfulness, courage, and the importance of not betraying myself. Each wound left a mark, but also built within me a strength I hadn't previously known I possessed. Step by step, I learned to live with greater awareness, even if the path was steep and lonely. Today, when I meet people who shower me with warmth, kindness, and genuine attention, I feel immense gratitude and humility. I no longer take anything for granted. Every gesture, every kind word, every presence has meaning for me. Tears often well up in my eyes when someone becomes important, when someone cares for me. These aren't tears of sadness- these are tears of emotion. Because I know how easy it was once to dream only of someone truly seeing me.

I don't want to convince anyone to want to be with me. Not anymore. I used to feel like I had to prove my worth, justify my feelings, and strive for attention, as if love were a reward for effort. But today... today I stand in a different place. I'm no longer chasing. I'm choosing.I look at my life and see how many times I've lost myself trying to fit in with someone who didn't even try to look deeper into my eyes. How many times I waited for words that never came, or gestures that no one intended to make. And I finally understood that the heart isn't a currency, and presence shouldn't be a plea.I don't need someone to "force" me—love that has to be asked for is just a shadow of love. I prefer emptiness to appearances. I prefer lonely silence to the noise of just any presence.Today, when someone comes into my life, I look to see if they walk with me steadily, if they can be there without demanding I give up myself. Does he see me as a human being, not a project to be fixed? And if he doesn't, I let him go. Without regret, without running after someone who doesn't want to stay.Because I, too, am a choice. And I deserve to be chosen just as strongly as I choose him—without hesitation, without games, without the constant questioning, "Am I enough?" I am enough.So I don't chase. I move forward, head held high, knowing that what's real won't escape. And what's leaving was never mine.

When I think about meeting the right man, I see clearly that it's not a moment from a movie or a firework that takes care of everything for us. It's more of a calm understanding that comes when I stop rushing.I've always believed that if you can talk endlessly with someone, if laughter comes naturally, and silence isn't awkward—then it must be it. And yes, it's important. Very important. Liking each other, wanting to reminisce, feeling the other person's curiosity—that's the foundation. But over time, I realized that foundation alone isn't enough if the rest of the house is to crumble.It wasn't until I started looking more closely at my life that I noticed how much our values ​​and lifestyle matter. How we spend our days, what's important to us, how we treat others, how we cope with difficult emotions. I understood that love isn't about fitting in at all costs, but about meeting in a similar place. Where we both want to go in the same direction, even if we're taking different steps. Emotional maturity turned out to be a key I hadn't been able to talk about before. The ability to talk, to take responsibility for my feelings, to not run away when the going gets tough. The right man isn't afraid of intimacy or the truth. He's ready—not "almost," not "someday," but now. Ready for a relationship, for me, for building something together.And most importantly: he chooses me. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't leave me hanging, doesn't keep me guessing. He chooses me consciously, just as I choose him. No games, no vying for attention. We're simply there for each other.Today I know that when I meet the one, I'll feel peace. Not because everything will be perfect, but because it will be real. Right, ready, and present. And that will be enough.

On January 26, 2026, Ridero Publishing published my original poetry collection, "Za-nie-kochanie." The volume was released in Legimi, Empik, and on the taniaksiążka.pl website. It will soon be available in all bookstores in Poland. An English version is in preparation.This volume doesn't tell a story. It doesn't explain, it doesn't teach a lesson. It doesn't ask for understanding or consent. These are poems about being in love, about not having it, and about being present within yourself when everything passes.Three states that exist simultaneously, not as choices, but as experiences of the soul. Don't look for answers in them. Let them touch the silence within you, pause for a moment, breath by breath.If something moves you, accept it. If nothing moves you, that's okay too. This isn't a story about falling in love. It's a record of being present in love.

Meeting a new person can be compared to opening a new book. When I lift the cover, I don't yet know if I'm holding an adventure novel, a quiet essay, or a story that will leave a mark on me for years to come. There's only curiosity- a slight shiver, the same one I feel when my fingers touch the first page.At first, I read carefully. I collect individual sentences: a passing smile, the way someone says my name, the brief pauses between words. Each one sounds like a hint of something bigger, but it doesn't yet reveal the plot. I turn the pages slowly, knowing that rushing can ruin even the best-written story.Over time, the paragraphs become longer. Memories emerge, small weaknesses emerge, laughter sometimes at inappropriate moments. I begin to recognize the style-I already know this isn't a simple narrative. There are twists and turns, sentences I return to in my mind, and passages I mark in the margins.Not every page is easy. Sometimes I come across a chapter that makes me uneasy, or a metaphor I don't immediately understand. But that's when I truly feel like I'm reading. That it's not a brochure to quickly skim through, but a book that demands my attention and presence.My favorite moment is when I forget I'm even reading. When the story captivates me so much that I stop analyzing and simply immerse myself in the dialogue, in the silences between the lines, in the unsaid lines. Then I know this journey into the unknown has meaning.And even if I ever close this book, something from it will stay with me forever. One sentence. One scene. Or the knowledge that I dared to open the cover and allow myself to be led where I haven't been before.