Nothing has ever hurt me more than your absence. // chciałabym powiedzieć jak straciłam głos podczas milczenia // Gdyby za szczęście nie trzeba było płacić, pizza byłaby za darmo. // Zwłaszcza jeśli się z kimś było blisko, a już nigdy go się potem nie widziało, to chciałoby się go odnaleźć nawet w kimś obcym.

To zadziwiające jak wiele potrzeba czasu, żeby dojść do banalnych

Wszystko wydaje się niemożliwe tym, którzy niczego nie próbują.

Najgorsze nie jest to, że ludzie oszukują. Najgorsze jest to, że każde oszustwo ma jakieś usprawiedliwienie.

Zakochana w tych niewielu rzeczach, które o nim wiedziałam, i w tych wielu, które przede mną ukrywał. Zakochałam się, jak człowiek zakochuje się w osobie spotkanej raz na ulicy, w autorze postrzeganym poprzez grane przez niego postaci albo w bohaterze powieści poznanym poprzez słowa pisarza. Zakochana w nieznajomym.

Nie rezygnuj z kogos tylko dlatego, że ktos inny uśmiechnął sie do ciebie o jeden raz za duzo
Idealny związek to sztuka rozmowy. Nieważne, że czasem padają ostre słowa. Ważne, żeby umieć po nich spokojnie porozmawiać. Idealny związek to parę błędów i kilka źle podjętych decyzji. Nie wytykanie błędów, ale nieustanne wsparcie. Upadki, chwilę zwątpienia. Ale jeśli-mimo to- codziennie chcesz zaczynać dzień z tą drugą osobą- to walcz o to, bo warto.
Idealny związek to jedno proste zdanie. To przekonanie.
‘Mimo wszystko, jesteś moja jedyna’.

Tęskni do miejsc, których nie może znaleźć.
Jeśli jest w Twoim życiu ktoś, kto potrafi zapalić w Tobie wszystkie zgaszone światła - nie puszczaj go nigdy

Dzieli się na ogół miłość na dwa typy: miłość, która jest formą przyjaźni, i miłość, która jest namiętnością. Szczęśliwy, kto może połączyć te dwie miłości; kto kocha osobę, z którą się przyjaźni.




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I felt a great deal of self placed pressure to write something beautiful for the new year, a paragraph strong with resolve, a lyrical foundation you could use as a base to build upon for your own next set of 365 days. That was what I hoped to write. But this loose and painfully grandiose idea I had, it smashed right into me and I failed. Every sentence I strung together felt cliched and uncomfortable to me. I refuse to feed you sugary quips about what you should be doing or changing or altering to better yourself for 2016. I am damn sick of the internet telling me how every aspect of my life should be lived. I won’t participate. As for what I’ve learnt this year, I think that would be redundant, I’ve done all I can this year to mark my tiny internet presence as a writer, sharing what I’ve learnt as I have learnt it all year long. It is somewhat a tradition for me to slip on a mask for NYE, I adore masquerade, hiding ourselves can be a release in itself. However, there is a slightly more daunting release I want to bring to light here, and one so rarely depicted online; death. The simple facts of: I will die. You will die. Our days are numbered. Yet, so often we exist under a duvet of delusion, sleepily believing we will live forever. Forever is by far the worst word in the English language, it promises something that can never ever be. Alongside it’s synonyms, it is the lexicon of a lie. We aren’t evermore nor permanent. Forever makes us forget, helps us skip over the fact that every day gone is one closer to the end. Perhaps I’m being too aggressive and this might make you anxious but it is a truth so many of us neglect. It seems instinctual for us to ignore. And we all need to stop beating around the bush when it comes to the undeniable fact that our hearts will stop beating. I hope you choose to confront death, I hope you decide to keep it close like a note in the pocket of your coat. Because embracing our inevitable end is a beautiful way to live. It is life’s greatest incentive. One chance with limited time. This is not an interminable story, your chapters will run out. So fuck NYE resolutions. Screw gluten free or the 6 am runs or whatever other form of punishment you promise yourself for 2016. Sincerely, SCREW IT. I say, walk into 2016 with the courage to remember death. Keep it close and always in sight. This will help you live the way you should, it will push and propel you forwards, it will create the story your life deserves. Don’t put off the things you seek, we don’t have time to procrastinate when it comes to living life. This is it, all we get. So here’s to the year we will only have once, 2016 – I hope you clutch at all your dreams and go wild with your whims. I wish you a story rather than a ‘one day’. Go out and grab at this great big globe before it goes away. Does this scare you? Are you unsettled? I don’t care, if you forget, you need to remember. I’ll happily be the only girl online to remind you that you will one day die, and what better time than between 2 years when we say hello but also goodbye? This it darling, all we get, there are no rewrites or redrafts for this tale in our bones and blood. And so, take heed and embrace life with its speed, that isn’t slow but faithfully too fast. Stop sweeping days away like dust; they are gold, they are everything and all we have. And so, all I can say, all I can hope is that you walk into 2016 with wild vigour and absolutely, fiercely; no regret. This is it darling, one life, one great big day at a time, this is all we get.


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This has been a year like no other, when I look back on the last 365 days I cannot believe how much I’ve achieved, how many quiet goals I made real, how mentally I am more stable, I’m happier and safer in a life that previously was a little too chaotic.Now, this isn’t boasting so I hope you don’t read this as anything but a grateful note. There is something about a year slipping away that causes my mind to roll back, back to last year at this time and the year before that and so on. 2015 was a big one for me in many ways; too many ways to type here. I moved to Barcelona, I acquired a home but also, I took on a permanent assistant to help me with my work as well as all the silly creative whims that so many other people tend to laugh at. Now, I’ve spoken about her on here before but I will do so again, her name isNeguine and she also happens to be a really great friend.From the long hours we spend on the streets shooting videos and photographs, to the tiny hotel rooms and even smaller airplane seats we’ve found ourselves in for work abroad. To the coffee she buys me or the tags she removes from my clothing samples when I carelessly forget; I am endlessly grateful. She was my pillar during Paris Fashion Week and on my birthday, she dragged me unwillingly out of my house to celebrate a day that usually makes me silently sad. In many ways, she is incredible.So, when Rituals asked me to participate in their Give From The Heart Campaign, I was asked to choose a personal hero and give them a gift, Neguine sprung to mind. Ofcourse she did, at this point, my life would be total chaos without her! So I stopped by the Rituals boutique and chose a gift for her. She, like me is a zealous collector of candles so I chose one from their Limited Edition, Oriental Nights collection and complemented it with the foamiest shower gel I’ve ever seen as well a shimmering body cream. I surprised her under the pretence of a work meeting and it was there that I gave her the big red box filled and tied up tight in gold ribbon, she loved it! It was such a sunny day too; we sat,laughed and drank too much coffee for a few hours that afternoon.It was a lovely way to say thanks in a small way for all the enormous things she does for me. Christmas so often feels too gift centric to me, there is so much giving without much thought as to why. I hope I’ve inspired you, or at least encouraged you to give thanks to all the tiny kind rituals that tick though your own lives, they are infinitely worth celebrating.



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I will always prefer 50 mm when it comes to my lense of choice. Not only does it give you a lovely depth of field, you can use it in low light or on grey days and still get a bright photograph. Canon offers 3 variations, each within a different price bracket. I have used all 3 over the years. There is the 1.8, the cheapest followed by the 1.4 and finally, the 1.2 – which is a whooping 1, 300 euros. All of these are good options, depending on what you can afford. I very recently invested in the most expensive, the 1.2 and it is the best purchase I’ve made all year. In terms of camera body,  I will always be a Canon girl, always. I am aware of the cheaper more compact cameras, in particular the Olympus Pen, which has become a somewhat trendy alternative. Following the hype, I did buy this camera a while back, but returned it to Amazon a few days later. Call me old-fashioned but nothing can replace the beauty of the beastly DSLR. They are big and heavy for a reason. They are reliable, quick and sharp with robot minds of their own that assess the light in a way that still leaves me in awe. I have owned the Canon 60d, Canon 7d and have recently replaced my Canon 5d mark ii with the mark iii (featured here in these photos).  I 100% recommend all of these models, again, depending on budget. They are all sturdy options and will take wonderful photos. Now I know these options aren’t exactly something to spontaneously order online, they are expensive, heart-wrenchingly expensive. But you know what else is heart-wrenching?  A life without the beautiful photo memories it deserves. Save up for one like I did with my recent upgrade, skip the Chanel bag and get yourself a good quality Canon. It might take months and months and months of saving but girls, I promise it is worth the price.


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I know I’m not overweight. I know I have some pretty features. Most days, I am relatively happy in the skin I live in and I hate how that might seem like arrogance, when really it’s just a confidence that as a 26 year old finally comes pretty naturally to me. But recently, I haven’t been feeling all that great, something inside me slipped and I fell into a fascination with plastic surgery (oh, I hate admitting this). When anything interests me, I buy a book on it – and so for more nights than I’d like to admit, I was in bed reading step by step grotesque medical details of different surgeries, learning all about recovery times and different procedure methods. I was enthralled and there I was staying up too late, picking out procedures with the same ease as I add shoes to online shopping carts. But like all the shoes deserted across the internet never to arrive boxed outside my front door, I guess my interest in surgery waned just a little and so I deserted the idea all together. Now I have nothing against plastic surgery – I’m just not sure I could ever do it, or if I would really actually want to. I’d like a different nose, same sized boobs and for that sliver of tummy fat that refuses to shift to finally dissappear – yes, I’d like all that, yes, please. But I’d also like to go on a date with Cary Grant, have my very own petting zoo and retire at 27 to travel for the rest of my life. You see, I want so many things – half of which are utterly ridiculous fantasies and the other half? Pure superficial desires like shoes or a smaller nose. I’m tired of wanting so many things, it’s exhausting – all these mental lists stuffed up in my head, reels upon reels of things I want. And you know what, just that tickle of interest in surgery…it snagged my confidence, and as that interest lead to fascination, my confidence was pulled and ripped until there was big old hole in it – a hole that made me sad, uncomfortable and wishing to look like an entirely different person altogether. How sad – to always be wanting something else, especially when I already have so much. I have 400 odd pairs of shoes and everyday someone tells me I’m pretty – why on earth do I go looking for more? Why do I spend time looking at shoes online? Why was I sitting in bed yearning to change my face and body altogether? And as someone who prides themselves on their confidence, I tell you all this with shame – wasting all that time sitting in front of my vanity mirror fantasizing about changing my face, reading that stupid surgery encyclopedia and then calculating how I could financially afford all these procedures. I had to make it stop, so I did. This constant wanting, it’s an addiction. And confidence is a like a fragile muscle, it can grow weak and limp if you let it – and it’s easier to let it sag. Mine did, all of ours do – but we mustn’t let it. And so today, I come at you with this confession – exhausted with always wanting something else, sad to have seen my confidence take such a plunge and determined to feel happier with what I have. Starting with this skimpy outfit on a beautiful balcony with those uneven boobs, larger-than-I’d like nose and a tummy that will never be totally flat. But I’ll bet to you, I look pretty. Because I am pretty and so are you.

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 She enjoys the idea of romance, but not right now, not today, and certainly not tomorrow. Love is out there somewhere, she’s unsure of where or when or how – but when her heart is ready, she will follow it, somewhere, somehow, some place.

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For the first time in a long time, I am very aware of being alone. Not scared, not anxious, not unhappy, it sits there, this sensibility that I am single. A curiosity as to how long it will last, a wonder of who I will meet and what might happen.  And if I might meet anyone at all. I have a hard time sustaining relationships, they’ll braid through a few years or a few months and then unravel slowly, sleepily, lazy struggles gather until I wake up and realize it’s time to go. I’ve had my heart broken only once, it hit me suddenly early one morning via text message and I carried that ache around like a cramp for three whole months. I’d clean my apartment violently, eat minimally and escape into a sea of new friends I made at nightclubs and bars of all sorts in Paris. By that summer, I was revived and regretting it all. I think I’ve only ever broken one heart and ironically, his was the best heart of all.But, So on I went. Off I delved back  into the trials and work and time that go into trying to find a man to call your own.  There have been boyfriends since, failed first dates that still have me laughing, men I enjoyed for a few months as well as men I would have loved to have known better. All memories I cherish, stacked up on a shelf like the books I’ve read – but really, a collection of experiences that haven’t made me any richer in my pursuit of lasting love. Often, I can’t help but wonder if I am doing something wrong? Maybe and probably so, I am not the easiest lady to date. I travel a lot, always in transit, between places, between suitcases. I work a lot because I love to do so and it keeps me distracted and up late at night. My best friends always come first and so I prioritize my free time for them. I’m not very self-conscious but I do  have a temper that can roll in suddenly like a storm. I’m moody, prone to a vague confusing sort of melancholy, aloof in ways I don’t even realize and I often enjoy being a loner. But above all, I’m not searching for a man like a puzzle piece to complete me. There is no frantic hunt in my heart to snag a husband. I’m happy the way I am – I’m not looking to be soaked up  into someone else’s life. I’m looking for a man who can meet me in the middle, a relationship where our lives unite but don’t become one. And I know that exists, I’ve seen it, I’ve heard about it. I know it does.  At 26, I am at an age where some of my closest friends are discussing marriage, friends who live with their boyfriends, friends who have been with their men for years and years. I’m not ready for that, nor am I scared, just aware that I’d like to find someone who held those sorts of promises for me. Aware of so many things but wise the none.







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I was the girl in the glasses, the girl with a mountain of books in her hands, the girl whose lunch got stolen by the cool girls from her locker at lunch. I was the girl in orthopedic shoes with a monobrow to match, who could only ever kick ass on the running track but hadn’t kissed a boy. Fast forward to university, I was the weird girl with an American accent from Spain, with a painful lack of a boarding school past and a collection of weird hats that got laughed at. I never really fit in – I never really felt quite right as a kid. I carried around my insecurities and they weighed me down, hey, sometimes they still do. Every which we way us women look, it feels like there is something beating us down, telling us we aren’t enough, or we are too much or at worse, nothing at all. Like most of us, I’ve starved myself, gorged myself to guilt, stayed with men just because they loved me – in fear they were the only ones that would. I never felt like I was enough and around every corner, it felt like there was evidence that I wasn’t. On rare occasions I would feel beautiful, practically invincible but those feelings quickly faded back into that shadow of self-hatred that so many of us cower under. And while I am not yet even close to wise, as I have matured, I decided to simply not give a hoot anymore. I took that shadow over me and tossed it as far as I could. Sure it comes slyly sneaking back, all the time, too often – but I can banish it. And so can you. I’ll work on myself, improve and grow in everyway I can – but ultimately, I am enough. You are enough. We are enough. I wouldn’t trade any part of myself for anyone else’s. I wouldn’t trade the sliver of fat on my stomach that keeps my organs safe, or my prominent nose or the tiny moles and freckles that cover my body. My terrible temper is the core of my passion and my obsessive personality, while dangerous, is what gives me my drive, energy and compulsion to keep going. I am strong, I am healthy and most days, I am as happy as can be. And so when Agent Provocateur wants to collaborate, and asks you to wear some of their beautiful lingerie – you don’t sink into that shadow, don’t worry about the width of your hips or how one of your boobs is bigger than the other. You slip it on, slick on some eyeliner and have some fun.
There are a lot of topics I want to discuss on this new more personal corner of Frassy with you all. And I guess one I discuss the most offline would be blogging – it is something I do everyday, it’s something I’ve done everyday for 7 years now. It comes second nature to me, sharing my life online, while cliched, has become part of who I am. But, in the last few years, I’ve watched the industry become increasingly commercial, and dare I say it, a tiny bit vapid – shopping obsessed, trend fed, hyperbolical views into perfect looking lives. Now, I have nothing against that and sincerely, I support every blogger out there, wholeheartedly, on whatever journey that decide to take with their website. And I’ll defend their right to do it as a professional blogger until my throat is sore. Nor am I against professional blogging, how could I be, when the majority of my income comes from Frassy? I believe bloggers, just like journalists, stylists, photographers, should be compensated for their work. But I also believe that as a content creator, and a often sponsored one at that, I can always find a way to combine my creativity with the brand project and tie these together to write a truthful and hopefully interesting story, a real slice of my life – not these rose tinted stories I see all over instagram, all over facebook, all over everywhere – to me, they aren’t interesting, enticing nor authentic – and quite personally, it’s become so ubiquitous, everyone everywhere has a better life than ours, the viewers. People always looking to impress, aren’t they tedious to talk to? Why must our lives be enviable to be interesting? Why has self promotion replaced human connection? Have we forgotten that blogging started as a conversation, not a boastful monologue? Back in the beginnings, back in the days of posing in my dark, damp University bedrooms – blogging was much more of a community, a discussion between girls and it started simply, revolving around the clothes we could afford and wore. Call me an old lady, but I sometimes miss those pre-social media, pre-instagram days. I made some of my closest best most cherished friends back in those days – and I have blogging to thank for that, we interacted with each other online and from from those emails bloomed wonderful, long lasting friendships. So I guess what I am saying here is that I miss the authenticity, the honesty, the reality – the traits of blogging that made it such a refreshing and interesting outlet. It’s still around just not as prevalent, it feels. I’m not impressed by hundreds of pairs of shoes, airplane tickets all over the world or selfies at Fashion Week with celebrities. All those things are fun and great – but I’m not going to be following along religiously. When I read online, I seek real stories by real women – insights into their lives that aren’t always peachy keen, stories that make me feel something. And if they are making money in the process, well all the better, their creativity and hardwork have  true value – and that makes me so happy. And at close to decade of blogging,  I am struggling to find ways to stay relevant and compelling to you kind women who read Frassy but I’ll start simply, by vowing to be a friend you can relate to, rather than a girl you envy. That isn’t me. I am just like you. I have financial struggles, I cry more often than I’d like to admit and so often, I feel truly so lost and so completely clueless. But I do feel positive about being more personal and taking this blog in all kinds of new honest directions, one day at a time. 

Weaving words, deleting words, rearranging words. Reading books, re-reading books, annotating books. I’ll see some words arranged nicely, differently – an unexpected adjective or a word I would have never thought to use, and I’ll jot them down on a piece of paper that will float alongside the family of notes I make, and they collect on my desk. They are coffee stained, torn, crumpled but there all the same to sift through when my own words come to a halt. For me, writing is an exercise – and I approach it with the same physical rigour I do my ab routine or my evening run. If I don’t write, the words slow down… if I don’t read, the ideas lull. Before photography, before clothes, words were my thing. I clung to them as a child and they hugged me right back through every chapter of my teenage years. There isn’t a single Nancy Drew book I have not read (and still own, in hardback too), Phillip Pullman’s Northern Lights Trilogy was practically biblical to me and I was tackling Austen with a beanie baby in the other hand. Does that sound boastful? I don’t mean it to, I just adore words. Sounds create little letters which form slightly bigger words – and these words create a huge, big explosive, infinite realm of emotion. That is incredible to me, how could anyone not be consumed by words? I guess we all are in some way or another. But me especially, and this year I’ve become addicted – spending fortunes on books, dedicating the little free time I can find to burying my nose in them and then twisting, crafting my own words into what I hope to be a book, one day. I’m in no rush to finish this book of mine – I feel like there is so much to read before I could even half complete it. Because you cannot write well if you don’t read. Anyone who tells you otherwise, well ignore them. In fact when it comes to writing, ignore everyone except the authors you love and your own heart – really, just throw those things together and they will combust. Or so I hope, because here I am in my own little world, with a trench on my back, a book in my hand & a heart full of words just bursting to be, to fall into the form of a book. All in due time, until then, there are stories and streams of thought to share here. I hope you enjoy them. I hope you read my words and I hope they inspire you to write your own.

Oh how I love movement in photos, I always have. I am almost certain you have noticed. From hair flicks to sidewalk spins to full on air beneath my feet in the form of a jump.  As a girl with infinite energy it feels natural for me to move across the photo frame rather than idly stand still. In there particular photos, I will blame all the caffeine for the very unashamed strut that with the wind elevated my poses to those of a full on diva. Now, Beyonce says a diva is the female version of a hustler, so I’m going to roll with that rather than apologize for my overly dramatic posing next to Saint Laurent. What can I say for a geek like me it is hard work trying to look cool for the sake of my blog, sometimes my efforts go a little too far. Hilariously, I’m not wearing any Saint Laurent, no none at all, darling my ensemble is from Primark.  A place you can shop a full look for the price of a lunch at your favourite cafe. A pair of fringed boots for the price of a sandwich, a sweater for a smoothie and if you like dessert, well, the faux fur scarf is yours as the sweet finale. As for the coins you’ll save? Buy some books, plan a trip, get a dog –  I am comfortable in my love for affordable clothing because you see darling, I am all about embellishing my mind. A big mind, yes that is the female version of a hustler. The ideal sort of diva.

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Golden sunsets, in winter they are beautiful, drenching even the narrowest, most tree covered streets here in Barcelona. That is one thing I can surely say for Spain, the sun is stubborn, refusing to fade even as we near November. Bare legs are still feasible, there is still ice in the coffees I drink in the afternoons and while summer long slipped away, winter here is not as difficult to face. My father’s myths of snow many years ago in Barcelona however have me curious, as an extremely hilly city, it would make for incredible sledding. But that won’t happen, the temperatures here are quite like a 10 minute abandoned cup of tea. Not hot but not cold enough to go make another one. Do you know what I mean? An almost too cold cup of tea but one I’d still drink. They say the weather is a boring topic of conversation but I quite like coming up with strange analogies to describe what’s going on in the skies. The sun just herself (yes, the sun, I insist must be female) there are a million metaphors for her. I guess I would start with something regal, I know, quite cliche, but then again, the sun is indisputably, queen. Or the clouds, an airy crowd of cruisers failing to keep most of the stormy promises they make. I like to call the rain a memory dripping mist – and when it does fall, it seems so does my nostalgia. I tend to try to keep it locked away but there it will go, tripping right out into a feeling I always feel when it pours. However, for now, I will desert my weather analogies and leave you instead with something probably far more enticing; this Oasis camel sleeveless coat which I’ve voluntarily (and very permanently) adhered to my shoulders in hopes regardless of what’s underneath, I’ll look chic. I very rarely push you ladies to buy anything I wear, but I’m willing to act more like a typical fashion blogger and less like me if it means you will at least consider this coat. It’s a serious contender for both a 10 minute cold cup of tea or even a cup of tea you might have absentmindedly placed in the freezer while looking for the sugar. But there I go with the weather again…

From posing myself or having other people pose for me, this is often the trickiest component of photography and definitely the one I get asked about most frequently. 8 years of blogging and I can safely say I am very comfortable in front of a camera but also quite good at making others feel comfortable too. I learnt this from photographing so many people who weren’t used to any sort of posing albeit in the form of the reverse cameras on their phones. It can be hard and so often it is embarrassing, I get it, believe me I do. There is something about a camera and it’s subject that make people on the street stare. I have no idea why. First of all, you have to ignore everyone else. You should do that anyway in all walks of life. But if you are posing, blank out anything around you and just act natural. Easier said than done, I know, I know. I have two ways around this. Firstly, movement. Walk across the frame, whip your hair around, jump – moving will allow to concentrate on the movement itselfrather than what you look like or whose looking at you. It might take more shots to get the perfect one than if you were just standing still but the result will be far more natural and comfortable. Secondly, incorporate some props. Be looking at your iphone or sipping a coffee or walking your dog. Anything that comes second nature to you will make for a good photograph because you will be at ease. The best photographs, I find come when the subject is behaving normally, like they would if the camera wasn’t there. Don’t pout or imitate exaggerated fashion poses; you wouldn’t stand around normally like this, so why do it in a photograph? And finally, if you want to smile, make a wise crack at the photographer and then laugh at your own joke. This is way better than forcing a fake grin, which always looks quite creepy to me. My poor assistant has had to deal with a lot of weak humour in an effort  to get a ‘casual’ laughing shot of myself. If you are photographing other people, make the lame joke yourself, out of politeness they will probably laugh and you’ll get a lovely photo.



My hats are always covered in lint, despite the roller that lives next to my hat stand, suprisingly they stay sprinkled in Biba’s hair, my own hair as well as the dust that mysteriously collects like uninvited guests all over my apartment. I could get annoyed about it but not caring is far easier. In many ways, my head is up in the clouds, or more aptly, not here when it comes to caring about certain things. I watch in wonderment the time women put into their eyebrows or the colour of their hair or the contouring of their face. I had my hairdresser throw some henna into my back then bob about a year ago, the acrylic nails I got a few weeks ago are a chipped mess and my entire makeup routine takes about 1o minutes max.  I have forgotten to buy a hairdryer every week since I moved into my apartment. Now, I’m not saying there is anything wrong at all with caring about your eyebrows or whatever else. Not at all, in fact I fully intend on not forgetting these sorts of beauty routines.  Every week I optimistically include them in my ‘to do’ list, highlighted in capitals: YOUR EYEBROWS ARE A MESS, fix them, decorated with exclamation marks jumping around the words in hope I actually go get them sorted out. But I never do. Maybe one day.  I’ll banish the lint from my hats and the unkempt hairs above my eyes that have morphed my brows into bushes.  Maybe one day my hair won’t be mayhem.  One day ,maybe.  But you see, there are many things that suggest I am a high-maintenance sort of girl, like this blog or the fact I hate camping or that I am very picky when it comes to the shampoo I use. But I’m not, hilariously all of my past boyfriends have remarked on how unpredictably slubby I am, how 10 minutes notice is all I need to go for a drink and how at home, I so often look homeless. Wandering my apartment in clothes 10 years old that I wore at high school.  The most uptight of my  boyfriends actually asked me to spend more time on my appearance and less time working. I’ll give you one guess where he was from (Paris, yes, ofcourse he was Parisian). Now, I could say I’m an advocate of effortless beauty, but that would be a lie. I just forget and don’t make the time. Too busy reading or counting sit ups in the gym or wondering why all my photograph looks terrible to me or missing friends or sitting in my candle lit living room listening to Einaudi. The older I get the less time I dedicate to how I look. I’ll clumsily apply some makeup, haphazardly straighten my hair and then wander off to go act vague and weird. I actually think I look chic for about 5 minutes a day, every other minute is me looking like a disaster.


It’s always fun to play fancy with Little Black Dress, a brand I’ve adored for quite some time now and last minute for fashion week, they couriered over some dresses over to me. I hastily stuffed them in my suitcase, added them to my very long ‘to shoot’ list, determined to photograph at least one with the Eiffel in sight. So I did just that. And seeing as all 3 of the dresses are indeed black, I thought black and whitewould be quite lovely. Timeless like the dresses themselves and timeless like my relationship with Paris. Regardless of my age, I will always wear dresses like these and I will always return to Paris. Some things, be it clothes or cities, never change. As for me, I’m an ongoing series of small explosions that alter me in some way; and so, these classics in my life, I cherish them. They linger and when life is weird, there they are hovering for me to catch and think about. And so I paired each dress with a personal scenario, purely because I’m strange like that. But whatever situation life throws at me, dresses like these are for keeps. I’ll wear them always.

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Forever is a beautiful word, don’t you think? Forever love, forever friends, and in this case, Forever 21. An age I will sadly never be again, despite it being one of the best years of my life. The year I finally graduated University and fled the tiny town where I felt trapped and found myself starting a sparkling new chapter in Paris. My personal style then was somewhat like finally completing one of those terribly useless ‘lemon water only’ diets. At university I felt positively starved, wanting to wear whatever I pleased but terrified of the negative ongoing commentary from the students around me. So when I arrived in Paris, I knew no one which meant I could wear whatever I pleased. For the first time in my life, I truly let loose with my clothes, I was gluttonously self expressive. The first time I took a walk from my first Paris apartment to the supermarket, I wore furry 9 inch leopard print platforms and shiny spandex disco leggings, purely because I could. At 21 I truly began to learn that style is best worn personally, and I’ve determinedly held that lesson tight in my fists ever since. And so while I will never have those times in Paris again, everything they taught me has always been here to stay. From the heartbreaks to the parties and everything else that comes with being with 21, but most of all, the self confidence to wear whatever I want on a whim, for no other reason other than I like it. And I’ll take every chance I can get to remind you to do this too, which is why I was so happy to jump on board Forever 21’s Forever YOU campaign, hopefully reiterating to you what took me 21 years to learn; that you should wear whatever you like, however you like, whenever you like. This is what makes clothes so interesting to me, they are a personal choice and thus so full of life, of YOUR life. And you? You have a wonderful life, so please always be you. Forever ever YOU.



Put on too much lipstick. Pull your boobs into a jumpsuit that enhances your curves. Go to a hotel rooftop, feign shock when men look at you. Laugh about it. All it takes some flesh to get attention, not brains or natural beauty nor humour. Just some simple skin. We all have skin. No wonder I don’t crave male attention in the same way other women might. I didn’t wear this for anyone on the street, I wore it for me. Funny how most refuse to believe that. Male attention actually makes me terribly uncomfortable. Typically I start sweating or scowling. It is never the men I want to look at me that look. My boobs might be uneven, one bigger than the other and with 26 years of gravity threatening to pull them down, it was no easy feat getting them into this lace up. As for my lipstick, it took constant fixing, with it mostly on my chin rather than mouth. But, I still felt pretty. Simply because there I was walking down a sunny street with navy shoes to match an outfit I quite like. Is that superficial? Perhaps, maybe… but pulling on clothes that hug your bones and urge you to celebrate your own skin? I think that’s a lovely thing. We all need this embrace sometimes, of clothes that fit tight but just right. A lovely thing indeed.

I fell out of love with sneakers for a while, did you notice? Suddenly, like with a lot of my loves, I grew bored and flung all my kicks aside to collect dust and there they sat sad; heartbroken as they watched my feet slip into loafers and pointed flats of many varieties instead. But then, I discovered Meyba and this sexy brand set the sneaker sentiment alight again. I met a man for coffee recently, he asked me, somewhat horrified why I was wearing sneakers. Perplexed, I simply said because I like them. I should add that he too was wearing a hybrid of sportswear shoe, not quite as chic as the sneaker but certainly as clunky as a hiking boot. Quite frankly, they were hideous but I would never inquire as to why of all the shoes in the world he decided to choose those for his feet. In fact when it comes to clothing, I tend to avoid asking questions. The mere fact that someone is wearing something is the answer, so why ask why? It is fairly obvious, we wear things we like. I will never question that. Sure, there are a lot of styles I find reprehensible, such as those weird heavy-looking creeper shoes or those denim shorts that are skimpier than most of my underwear or those pointless little jackets we call boleros, that look as if they were stolen straight off a little girl’s back. But I would never demand to know why someone chose to wear any of these things. If you want to wear tiny jackets or accessorize your shorts with butt cheek jiggle, than so be it. I’ll defend your right to wear whatever the hell you please. Personal style should be just that, personal – and when a form of expression comes from a personal place, I don’t feel it is right to judge or scrutinize it. But rather embrace we are all different with tastes of all kinds and that is what makes life and this fun thing called fashion, so flavoursome. And as for my flavour of the month, sneakers for sure. With jeans or suits or the right sort of skirt, it makes running around on all these dissapointing coffee dates with men all the easier. In fact I will go as far as saying that that man with the bulky not -quite- sneaker- almost- hiking- boot pair of shoes  is probably moving pretty slow when it comes to finding love. His opinions as well as his shoes must certainly be weighing him down. Who knows, but  as for me? I’m moving like mad in these Meybas of mine.

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Oasis dresses fit my body well, I always silently salute the brand when I pull one on. As a proud size 10 (or EU 40) I have hips and too many leg muscles for a thigh gap, making a lot of the tighter options rather uncomfortable and wholly unflattering. But Oasis seem to have the hourglass woman in mind and I cherish that. And this one? This one reminds of Charlotte Olympia, not the brand but the designer herself. Perhaps she and the brand are synonymous but I love the clothes she wears (as well as her shoes). I find the people behind the brands I admire far more fascinating than the products they sell. How did they start? What do they eat for breakfast? Are they inspired by books, if so which ones? Do they stay up late or get up really early? Funny, how as a girl with almost anti-social-leaning-towards-loner tendencies, I am still so fascinated by people – but I’m pretty picky as to where my curiosity lands. Not pretty people, not popular people, I tend to only be nosy when it comes to creativity. I know I’m a creative person, I know this. So it is the writers, the designers, the photographers  that intrigue me. I guess this zealous curiousity is born from what I’ll call, a trio of emotions: anxiety, insecurity as well as an ongoing yearning to achieve something I am confident is truly creative. I am still writing this book of mine – a book so far no one wants to publish. And between the book struggles and blogging full time, sometimes I cannot help but fear that this creative peak might always be two steps too far away, always close but somewhere in the distance. It’s a worry I wear like earrings, nestled on both sides of my brain and tangled in my hair. Oh well,  it won’t stop me from trying… I’ve been in search of  creativity ever since my first English Literature class at 15, giving up now would be a sin. And perhaps,possibly, these earrings of worry, well maybe they suit me? I might even go as far as claiming them classic, because what’s creativity without the process, without the struggle? Right?

I guess there is always space for this subject here because there are always gaps – big, sad lonely holes that consume and convince us we are not what we think or deserve. Self-confidence is our biggest asset and one that we as women really seem to lack. Maybe I’ve been feasting on too much Caitlin Moran these days, but I’m not sad or dissappointed in our inability to grasp at self-esteem. You see, it surpasses these emotions and instead, I am down right angry. Boiling mad about it. So pissed off I could throw plates at walls. I sprint off into rants, mostly to men that leave me lost in a labyrinth of irate emotion. Why can’t we get it together? Why are we all so concerned about how skinny our bodies are or how bouncy our bosoms are? Do, we not as an entire gender on this earth have more important things to concern ourselves with? Why must we keep succumbing to these pressures that box us in? We willingly allow ourselves to sit claustrophobic, too cosy and too close to what we perceive to be our shortcomings. And sure, we all have flaws – but not once in my 26 years have I heard a woman express concern over something real. Such as her inability to speak multiple languages or that she might not be reading enough books. Instead, it’s all ankles and belly fat and hair colour. It’s plastic surgery wishlists or what diet we should be on. I’m so exhausted of all of this, especially since I too am a victim. Despite my cynicism, I still somehow find myself in these downward spirals that conclude in me resolving to a) never eating again b) going to the gym 15 times a day and c) saving for all kinds of surgery. All ridiculous resolutions. And it makes me mad, that despite all I know and all I believe to still find myself thinking in this truly terrible way. It’s a waste of time, which by the way, is a huge consideration. Time – now that is something to really concern ourselves with. We don’t have an endless amount, we are all going to one day, die and yet we still choose to spend entire hours of our existence internally insulting and abusing ourselves. We must be fools. Now, I know, it seems rather futile to get all heated without offering some sort of insightful solution. I could sit here and talk about yoga, or drinking enough water or eating right. I do all those things, I am incredibly healthy. I go to the gym every day. I have muscles in places most women don’t. A peek into my fridge would tell you I am a dedicated ‘clean eater’. And yet still, I self-hate in the same way I used to drink wine. Infrequently, but so heavily it cripples me. And, finally, after much consideration, the easiest route to looking in the mirror and feeling okay – is what I am calling the shrug. It’s the who cares, nonchalant attitude to how your thighs look in your favourite pair of jeans or the shape of your boobs, that ultimately will lead you to feeling okay. Indifference really is the way to beat it, because really, what does it ultimately matter? You have two legs, arms and a heart – the shape of them is so laughably secondary, quite in the same way the socks underneath your shoes are. If we as women can find it in ourselves to remain complacent about far more important things, such as you know, unequal pay, our perceived inferiority to men and all the other frustrations that feminists have long fought hard to change..then surely we can find the strength to stay indifferent about the sizes and shapes of our body parts? It is in this complacency we will find strength, and strong, as women, I know we are. We are so strong. Surely strong enough to shrug.

Jeśli mnie pytasz, co złego jest w miłości, to ci powiem - boję się, że lada moment zostaniesz tą cząstką tlenu, bez której nie będę mógł 

"Samotność to niedokończone rozmowy i pytania bez odpowiedzi, ale i jeden kubek w kuchni, jednoosobowa pościel w sypialni i wolna półka w łazience. Samotność to bycie samemu w sercu i w głowie. Samotność jest wtedy, kiedy nie masz komu opowiedzieć o swoim dniu. Kiedy niedziela nie jest jeszcze jednym wolnym dniem, który można fantastycznie wykorzystać, tylko twoim przekleństwem. Kiedy wolisz robić wszystko, byle nie wracać do domu, bo wiesz, że nikt tam na ciebie nie czeka. Samotność jest wtedy, kiedy nie masz do kogo zadzwonić w środku nocy i powiedzieć ‘jest mi źle’. Samotność to szare dni i bezsenne noce. Samotność - kiedy ściany pokoju wiedzą o tobie więcej, niż ktokolwiek inny, a jedynym bytem znającym na pamięć twój kolor oczu, jest sufit twojej sypialni. A smutek? Smutek to samotność. Może walić się świat, ale kiedy masz z kim dzielić cierpienie, to wszystko jest do zniesienia. Nie ma żadnego, tak dobrego powodu do walki, jak druga osoba. Dla siebie rzadko chcemy walczyć, za to dla osoby, która znaczy dla nas wszystko, jesteśmy w stanie przenosić góry."

"Istnieje coś takiego jak smutek po smutku. To taki smutek, który nachodzi Cię po jakimś czasie, kiedy już wszystko się uspokoi, wyjaśni, nie łamie serca, pozwala spokojnie spać. Nigdy nie wiadomo kiedy się pojawi, choć najczęściej prowokujemy go sami siedząc samemu po północy, myśląc za dużo. Związany jest chyba z tęsknotą, próbujemy przywołać pewne odczucia, co ważne, tylko na chwilę - skończyło się coś, czego mieliśmy dosyć, ale stanowiło tak ważny etap naszego życia, że pomimo zamknięcia, będziemy co jakiś czas do niego wracać. To taki moment, w którym możesz pozwolić sobie na myślenie o wszystkim co już nie wróci, możliwe, że chodzi po prostu o to, żeby spojrzeć na to wszystko z boku, z innej perspektywy, spróbować zrozumieć, dlaczego stało się właśnie tak. Czasem potrzebne jest pewne zamknięcie spraw we własnej głowie, a przede wszystkim w sercu i jeśli potrafisz na dawny ból spojrzeć inaczej to znaczy, że udało Ci się uwolnić."
Marta Kostrzyńska

"….inaczej się śpi, gdy mamy komu powiedzieć dobranoc i dzień dobry."

Czasami bierzemy na siebie całą winę, tylko po to, żeby druga osoba mogła czuć się dobrze, a my zbywamy to krótkim “ja sobie jakoś poradzę”. A później siedzimy w kącie z winem zastanawiając się, co poszło nie tak."

"Nigdy się nie dowiemy, do jakiego stopnia nasze życie uległoby zmianie, gdyby pewne usłyszane i niezrozumiane zdania zostały zrozumiane."

Nie ma przypadkowych spotkań i ludzie też nie stają na drodze naszego życia, ot tak. Każdy człowiek zostaje nam dany po coś, aby czymś nas ubogacić, dopełnić, coś pokazać czy uświadomić. 

"Odchodziłam od wielu ludzi, wiele razy. Chciałabym spotkać kogoś, przy kim będę chciała zostać. Nie odejść, albo odejść i bardzo bardzo szybko wrócić. Zostać i czuć się na tyle bezpiecznie, żeby przestać uciekać."

To pytania rozwijają świadomość człowieka, więc jeśli nikt nam nie zadaje pytań ważne jest abyśmy sami sobie je zadawali."

To Ty odgrywasz główną rolę w swoim życiu.
To Ty jesteś głównym bohaterem w swoim filmie, więc żyj tak, aby był to najlepszy film jaki kiedykolwiek oglądałeś."

To nie czas leczy rany. To usunięcie oporu przed zmianą stanowi rzecz najważniejszą, a często wydłużamy to w czasie, ponieważ nie chcemy się zmieniać. Gdyby nie ten opór przed zmianą moglibyśmy stać się zupełnie innymi ludźmi w ciągu kilku sekund."

Powoli zaczyna brakować mi tego, że już nie brakuje mi Ciebie.

Potrafisz zdecydować, co ma znaczenie, a co tylko pozornie je ma?

Jeśli chodzi o ludzi to jestem pewien, że zawsze jakoś napotkamy te osobę, której jesteśmy przeznaczeni. I od nas zależy, czy będziemy gotowi rozpoznać ją wśród reszty.

lubię te podróże
w które wyruszamy bez biletu
a wracam
z tyloma bagażami (wspomnień)

Miłość zawsze zaczyna się od drobnych gestów.

Dlatego uciekłam. Od wzruszeń uciekam jak najdalej.

Muszę zamrozić serce dla tej jednej osoby, która uparła się rozpalać w nim ogień.

W niespodziankach najpiękniejsze jest to, że dopiero się zdarzą.

Be with someone who always wants to know how your day was.

napisałam do ciebie
przezroczystą czcionką
nie wiem
czy odczytasz.

Po co nam pięćdziesiąt lat szczęścia, skoro możemy mieć romans w tramwaju i wysiąść na innych przystankach?
Największe miłości to te, których nigdy nie było.
— Ochocki “Vithren”


Nasze szczęście zależy od wielu elementów. Zazwyczaj są to rzeczy, do których nie przywiązujemy uwagi. To pochwała z ust obcej osoby. Uśmiech od nieznajomego na ulicy. Pocałunek bliskiej osoby i słowa ‘jesteś najlepsza, pamiętaj’. To spotkanie starego znajomego. Ładnie ułożone włosy. I dobrze zawiązane buty. Szczęście to nie wielkie momenty, w których tracimy oddech. Szczęście to są te chwile, które pozwalają nam spokojnie oddychać.

Każdy potrzebuje kogoś, komu może w środku nocy powiedzieć, że pająk chodzi po ścianie.

Kłamstwo zaprowadzi nas do prawdy.

Aby zrozumieć ludzi trzeba starać się usłyszeć to, czego nigdy nie mówią.

Podobno zawsze można wrócić
nawet w te niewłaściwe kierunki

Wybrawszy mniejsze zło,
nie zapominaj, że wybrałeś zło.

Kiedyś mamy się spotkać i śmiać się przy kawie, mimo że oboje jej nienawidzimy.

You are poetry, you aren’t meant to be understood. You are supposed to touch hearts, shake souls and leave them in awe .

Nie można odczytać przyszłości z gwiazd, one mówią o tym co było.

To właśnie słabość silnych mężczyzn najbardziej porusza kobiety.

Po prostu żyj. Śmiej się, gdy rozwiąże Ci się sznurówka. Gdy zaśpisz do szkoły. Gdy pomylisz autobusy. Nie płacz z powodu niezdanego egzaminu. Nie przejmuj się gorszymi dniami. To wszystko, co masz. Życie się z tego składa. Ze źle nastawionych budzików i słabo zawiązanych butów. Nigdy nie zobaczysz tęczy o 4 rano. Bo wtedy jest jeszcze ciemno. Poczekaj. Po prostu żyj.

Gdy człowiek zaczyna kochać jakąś osobę, w rzeczywistości zakochuje się nie w niej, lecz - poprzez nią - w życiu.

To była taka miłość przez male 'm'.

Niektórym ludziom jest pisane się spotkać. Niezależnie od tego, gdzie się znajdują czy dokąd się wybierają, któregoś dnia znowu na siebie wpadną.

Są szczęścia tymczasowe i trwałe. Tymczasowo szczęście to: dobra książka, wino, seks z kimś, ładny widok z okna, jedzenie, komplement. Trwałe: życie z kimś, o kim wiesz, że będzie cię trzymał za rękę, kiedy będziesz umierał. Z nadzieją, że to ty będziesz pierwszy, a nie on.

Była kapryśna i często mnie poprawiała. Bo ja zamiast kocham cię, mówiłem że bardzo lubię, że najbardziej. A to przecież była miłość.

People are prettiest when they talk about something they really love with passion in their eyes.

(…) Nie mogę określić ani godziny, ani miejsca, ani spojrzenia, ani słów, od których się zaczęło. To stało się zbyt dawno. Byłem już w pół drogi kiedy zdałem sobie sprawę, że w ogóle się zaczęło.
Tyl­ko małomówny, przys­tojny mężczyz­na posiada dla ko­biety czar za­gad­ko­wości. Tyl­ko małomówna, piękna ko­bieta za­cieka­wia mężczyznę aż do szału.

Jeśli kiedyś stracimy się z oczu, stój w miejscu, tam gdzie jesteś, a wtedy ja cię znajdę, bo jeśli się zgubimy i oboje zaczniemy się szukać, miniemy się w tłumie i nigdy nie odnajdziemy.

Nie odezwała się ani razu. Nie znam przyczyny. Być może oboje boimy się odezwać. Być może żadne z nas nie chce usłyszeć, że druga osoba nie chce rozmawiać. A może każde z nas jest zbyt dumne i nie chce wyjść na tego, który desperacko szuka kontaktu. Może po prostu jej nie zależy? Tak to już bywa. Mija tydzień bez kontaktu, potem miesiąc i nagle przerwa robi się tak długa, że głupio jest chwycić za słuchawkę. A więc nie dzwonię.

Tylko temu, kto pyta o szczegóły, można uwierzyć, że rzeczywiście chce zrozumieć drugiego człowieka. Ciekawość szczegółów to sposób na okazanie miłości.
Jest taka miłość, którą czasem zostawiasz. Wyzywasz i długo nie wracasz. Ale nie ma takiego dnia, kiedy o niej nie myślisz. Jest taka miłość, która zawsze na Ciebie czeka, bez względu na to, jak długo Cię nie było. Przyjmuje Cię z otwartymi ramionami i niezależnie, jak było źle- gdy wracasz, czujesz, jakbyś dostał nowe życie.

Istnieją marzenia, które nawiedzają nas tuż po przebudzeniu. To one sprawiają, że warto żyć.

“Book of the day: The Stand by Stephen King
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Do momentu gdy nie powie się “Kocham” wszystko można jeszcze delikatnie skończyć.


Przy tej okazji wymyśliłam pierwszą zasadę zerwania: zniszcz wszystkie fotki, na których on jest seksowny, a ty szczęśliwa.
-Zasada zerwania numer dwa: kłam. Lepsze to niż wyznać, że to ze względu na byłego faceta umówiłaś się z baseballistą i kupiłaś nową kieckę na kredyt.
-Po śniadaniu Charlotte i ja poszłyśmy na zakupy. Zasada zerwania numer trzy: póki cierpisz, nie wchodź do sklepów.
-Zasada zerwania numer cztery: nie przestawaj o nim myśleć ani na chwilę, bo gdy przestaniesz, zaraz go spotkasz.
-I na koniec najważniejsza zasada zerwania: nieważne, kto ci złamie serce ani jak długo będziesz się kurować, bez przyjaciółek nie dasz rady.

Gdy tęsknimy, ożywiamy to w naszych wspomnieniach.

Jeśli czegoś nie da się ukryć, naucz się o tym mówić.

Nic tak bardzo nie zaburza kobietom wizji świata jak toksyczne i nieudane związki. Trafiają źle, a później zakładają, że każdy następny facet będzie taki sam. One chcą być szczęśliwe, ale coś sprawia, że im bardziej czują się wykończone, tym mocniej chcą w tym tkwić, bo kobieca miłość ma to do siebie, że jest bezwarunkowa. Latami potrafią prosić się o miłe słowo, o uśmiech, o przytulenie, o pamięć, o głupi bukiet kwiatów, a ostatecznie nawet o okazanie jakiegokolwiek uczucia. Dają z siebie wszystko, nie dostając w zamian nic. A kiedy się już tak naproszą i trafią na takiego, który jednak chce im coś ofiarować, są zszokowane. Albo się dziwią i, przyzwyczajone do poświęcenia, nie są w stanie tego przyjąć, albo przez to, jak były traktowane, wydaje im się, że trafiły na kogoś wyjątkowego. Wyjątkowego, bo potrafi przyjechać po nią w nocy i odstawić do domu, wywołać uśmiech wiadomością, że o niej myśli, gdy ona siedzi w pracy, czy po prostu być dla niej wsparciem w trudnych chwilach i pozwolić na słabość. Czy to nie powinno być oczywiste? Trzeba to doceniać, każdą najmniejszą rzecz trzeba doceniać, ale nawet nie zdajemy sobie sprawy, kiedy zachowania, które powinny być normalne (bo na tym polega miłość, prawda?), zaczynamy traktować jako coś wyjątkowego. Odprowadził cię do domu, bo zrobiło się ciemno? Chwała mu za to, ale powinien to zrobić niezależnie od tego czy jesteś jego obecną, byłą, przyszłą, czy niedoszłą i prawdziwy facet nie będzie się nawet nad tym zastanawiać. Może być na ciebie śmiertelnie obrażony i nie odezwać się ani słowem całą drogę, ale nie opuści cię na krok, póki nie będzie pewien, że już nic ci nie grozi. Gdy myślę, jak bardzo skrzywione jesteśmy przez takie relacje, to aż nie dowierzam. „Odprowadził mnie do domu” – kurcze, normalny facet, a zachwycamy się nad tym, jakby co najmniej zrobił coś ponad swoje siły i jeszcze do tego poświęcił swój cenny czas, za co powinnyśmy być mu dozgonnie wdzięczne. A co jest w tym najśmieszniejsze? Że jesteśmy wdzięczne, jak nie wiem co. Bo świat na tyle stanął na głowie, że normalniejsze dla nas jest to, że jesteśmy olewane, niż to, że ktoś postanowił o nas zadbać. To nie chodzi o to, że kobiety są słabe i wymagają ciągłej opieki, ale o to, że jeśli naprawdę im zależy, to są w stanie oddać wszystko i nigdy nie będą tego postrzegać w kategorii poświęcenia. Jedyne, czego potrzebują w zamian to poczucia, że ty to widzisz i doceniasz. Że wiesz, że możesz na nią liczyć i jeśli ona będzie cię potrzebować, to ani chwili się nie zawahasz. Dlatego kobiety cierpią. Cierpią, jeśli przyzwyczają się do proszenia się o wszystko i później myślą, że to normalne. Cierpią, jeśli na dzień dobry dostaną wszystko, a później nagle zostaną z niczym. W czym tkwi problem? W samoocenie i poczuciu własnej wartości. Poczuciu, które zmienia się niczym pogoda w marcu, jeśli kobieta sama nie potrafi o nie zadbać i staje się zależna od tego, czy ktoś ją akurat chce. Kobieta świadoma swojej wartości nie będzie spalać się z facetem, który jej nie docenia. Taka kobieta da z siebie wszystko, ale nie pozwoli, by traktować ją źle. Ona będzie wiedziała, że zasługuje na więcej i pójdzie tego poszukać. Będzie znała swoją wartość, ale jeśli poczuje, że w twoich ramionach nie musi się niczego obawiać, wierz mi – dostaniesz wszystko.

Pewnie za kilka lat spotkamy się przypadkiem, wpadniemy gdzieś na siebie, może nieświadomie otrę się o Twoje ramię na ruchliwym placu w mieście. Będziemy już zupełnie sobie obcy - zapomnimy o słodkich słowach na dobranoc, wszystkich wspólnych spacerach, a rozmowy z młodości wepchniemy do wielkiego pudła na strychu. Co prawda, wspomnienia będą tlić się w naszych wnętrzach, prawdopodobnie pozostanie jakiś osad na dnie serca, ale nikt z nas już nie będzie traktował tego poważnie.

Noc wycisza. Noc jest magiczna. Nocą słowa stają się puszyste jak koty, ciche, skradają się, mruczą, kłamstwa chowają się przed nimi jak myszy, łatwiej jest powiedzieć prawdę. Nocą ludzie wydają się bliżsi, wszystko zniża się do szeptu, wszystko czuje się bardziej (…)

Miłość to też rozmowy, siedzenie razem i picie herbaty, takie pobycie. Lubienie, no.
Wszyscy wracają kiedyś do miejsc, z których chcieli uciec.

Błąd łatwiej wybaczyć niż kłamstwo.

Jeśli nie dasz jej emocji emocji; jeśli nie sprawisz, że będzie czuła się pożądana, to prędzej czy później Cię zdradzi. Nawet się o tym nie dowiesz. Chyba, że będzie chciała, żebyś się dowiedział.

Przeżyję to, chyba przeżyję.

A pewnego dnia
że żyję znów.

Przypominam sobie, jak lubiłem się Ciebie domyślać
Nie życz mi ani dobrych snów, ani kolorowych, ani słodkich i pięknych, po prostu mi się przyśnij.

Często mówiłam, że zrobiłam coś pod wpływem alkoholu. Tłumaczyłam tak wiele najróżniejszych zachowań, wiele najróżniejszych słów, wiele gestów. Co zabawne, najczęściej byłam wtedy stuprocentowo trzeźwa. Czasami zastanawiam się co ta tendencja o mnie mówi - czy jestem tak nadwyczaj odważna, czy tak głupia.

 Write even if it hurts to pen down certain feelings , especially then 

 I will write you letters which I will never send , I will write you poems which you will never read , I will tell stories about you which you will never know , I will miss you and break a little and you will have no idea , its funny how sometimes we can love and die over someone so silently. 

Nigdy nic nie wypełniło w moim życiu tyle miejsca ile brak Ciebie, Twoja nieobecność.
Na żadnym koncercie nie zdarłam sobie gardła tak bardzo jak milcząc i myśląc o Tobie.
Straciłam głos przez miliony niewykrzyczanych słów.
Nic nigdy nie nawilżyło mi policzków tak jak łzy, które nigdy nie wypłynęły z oczu. 
Nigdy nie dotykałam niczego delikatniejszego niż pustka, którą po sobie zostawiłeś.
Opuszki palców nigdy nie bolały mnie tak jak po napisaniu tysięcy niewidzialnych listów
setkach niewystukanych wiadomości.
Usta nigdy nie drżały tak jak po dziesiątkach niewymienionych uśmiechów 
i kilkunastu wyśnionych pocałunków. 

Kiedy byliśmy za blisko, wycofując się, zraniłeś mnie za mocno.
Kiedy byliśmy za daleko, nie zraniłeś mnie wystarczająco

Nie jestem bi, choć sądziłam, że jestem. Sprobowałam związku z dziewczyną, bo kiedyś jeden facet strasznie mnie zranił i miałam nadzieję że dziewczyny są lepsze. Częściej mówią prawdę. Są delikatniejsze. Bardziej szczere. I są. Ale jednak to nie to :( Są za mało męskie i brakuje im wielu, wielu rzeczy i cech (i nie mam na myśli penisa, niee)
I miałeś rację, że się bałeś, że Cię lubię za bardzo. Bo tak było. Bo tak wciąż jest. Jestem teraz we wspaniałym związku (z facetem), ale wciąż o Tobie myślę, choć wiem że to złe. Patrzę na Twoje zdjęcia z Pragi. Na Twój uśmiech. Kurde, pamiętam Twoje gesty, Twoje dziary, wszystko. Dlaczego pozwoliłeś mi się do Ciebie zbliżyć? I dlaczego sam się do mnie zbliżyłeś? To nie ja pierwsza Cię pocałowałam. Dlaczego kiedykolwiek złapałeś mnie za rękę? Nie zdawałeś sobie sprawy, że te wszystkie momenty dotyku, pocałunki, noce, sprawią, że się w Tobie zakocham? Hmm, to chyba nieuniknione w takich sytuacjach. Albo to jest, albo tego nie ma. A przy Tobie czułam się tak dobrze, tak inaczej... Wciąż mi Ciebie brakuje, choć nie powinno. Ale dlaczego wycofałeś się dopiero po tym wszystkim, a nie wcześniej?  Kurde, kiedy nie mogę spać, to analizuję martwą przeszłość, choć nie powinnam. Nawet nie mogę tego zwalić na katar, ani gorączkę haha