Driving through a remote highway in a thunderstorm,
winds howl
deafening the ears craving for a consolatory and palliative sound
the welkin lit by the fire flashing across the clouds.
The rain
****** the cars.
The thunder
seemed like a dying drummer of a battlefield.
The fiery sky
ushered callousness into the deserted streets.
A mixed feeling of fear and loneliness, anxietic trepidation and forlorn..  
Suddenly,
appeared a bridge.

Lighted feebly by a bygone light post
flickering,
like the breath of the dying.
As soon as I allowed the bridge
to place its hand over my head,
the noise dampened.
the uneasiness decreased.
the war ended.
and the drummer took a moment to rest his head upon his drum..
a sigh could be felt.
there was a sense of composure and calmness
Kept hidden in the unfriendly localities outside.
The heart wanted to stay,
to be wrapped in the serenity.
The pacifying feel
like a mother holding her child.  
like a wounded soldier,
who returned from the war zone, being taken care and healed by love.. but soon as I left the warmness of the friendly area..
the thunderclaps welcomed me like they got their prey back..
the winds
growling against my windshield like an unfriendly knock at the midnight.. the blanket of darkness hides away
all the light which once seemed within the reach..
I drove back home..
but with a smile..
Smile, depicting the right prediction of  ending up in the same place from where I had been continuously trying to get out..
with a glow on face..
Glow, created by the fire which had been burning everything in front of me..
The tears, though invisible,
reminded me of the lows I deserve.
doing right, yet losing
was a habit now.
I marked another red on my ledger but without any jolt.
A sigh
was enough
to show that I was back.

That calming, comforting, gentle, peaceful, reassuring, restful, alleviating, consoling, easing, mollifying, pacifying, relaxing, relieving, remedying, softening, warming feeling was you.


That bridge was you.

Your buddy solemnly professing it to you on your roof, the city skyline lit up behind him, you saying, “I know, man, I love you too,” in an almost consolatory fashion because it wasn’t easy for him

Your ex whispering it in your ear before getting into the cab that takes them away from you forever

Mother, her mantra, a reminder, every time you see her

Father, that one time you didn’t **** up, but at least it’s sometimes there behind his eyes

Your sister, even though she’s halfway across the country it picks you up because she’s the only one who understands you and how it feels

Grandfather, you’re ten, despite your size he wants nothing but to hold you on his lap and plant kisses on your head. “Te quiero, te amo,” he mutters into your hair until you finally make up an excuse to get up to go play with your cousins. It’s the second you’ve ever seen him. Maybe he knew it was going to be the last time

When your ex didn’t take you back, after your desperate, last, all out attempt. Crushed, you move and follow your “dream.” Later, much later, you realize they cut them self off from you so you could have it, the dream, they love(d) you so much they let you go because they thought they were holding you back.

hell, i needed someone
  with sign language
skills on this one,
             the "joke" was over
a long time ago,
but a "serious" explanation
had to be devised...
o.k.:
   right hand does the O...
with the pinky arching
into a closure on the thumb...
then...
right hand does the >
                using the index
and *******...
then...
     the left hand's index
finger props behind the lying
    and...
           you get a K.

- but never mind that,
i'm listening to all these incels
online and...
      this ugly mug (i.e. me)
   is "worried" as they are,
worried?
         maybe i shouldn't
have looked up to Kant...
i live with people,
but there are interludes
where i can disappear
for around two weeks
from ever interacting with them...
that's almost funny...
               i guess sometimes
my shadow becomes
to clingy...

               now i can understand
the social norm expectations...
i feel them when i go back
"home" while visiting my
grandparents...
  all the old men are like:
where's your girlfriend?!
and i'm "like":
well i can't exactly
   do the Kazakh / Mongol
"thing" of ****** a woman
into submission, can i?
it's not like: oops, here's another
one...
it's not like i can force
them, can i?

          i guess my reasoning
is complete, since i leave a bunch
of old men convinced,
they agree:
    once a woman can buy
her own car, her own this that
and the other,
she's no longer a miss...
but a mrs. (pani - mrs.,
pan - mr. yadda yadda)...

          but that's Poland,
on the resurgence front -
gotta breed...
                      as if world war II
was only a history book
event for me,
   don't know: lucky,
or unlucky,
   i still remember talking
to my great-grandmother
about the war,
scuttling like rats
on the front:
   baby in tow (my grandmother),
giving her makowina
    (*****) to keep the toddler
pipsqueak silent...
so the soldiers wouldn't
get them...
   so basically i have a granny
who was a ****** addict
as a baby...
   in order to keep her mouth
shut...

   and here's me...
            lost impetus for
the reproductive "game"...
         no, not with the english women...
i tried,
went through a french girl,
a russian girl, an australian girl,
a south african girl...
an ukranian girl,
a puerto rican bubbly,
a bisexual thai girl,
an afro-saxon girl
  (yes, black "english"
  girl)...
   and a few bulgar girls...
and that one polish girl
who... licked my face
    in the dead of night
(no, nothing beyond
having my face licked,
that was enlightening,
to say the least)... but...
i don't do fickle,
poncy jane austen crap,
i don't play the: "hunter" mentality,
the "thrill of the hunt"
of cultural darwinism that's
rife in english culture...
i'm either in, or i'm walking
into the ******* sunset with
the **** of the gods (beer)...

why would i bemoan
a bachelor status?
          isn't it enough that i already
have a ******* shadow clinging
onto me?
            two cats are unbearable...
attention ******* their *****
into giving them food...
ugh...
                     now a dog i could
understand...
      incels and girlfriends...
man: i just want a dog...
    a rottweiler,
              or a dobermann,
oh, wait, they outlawed
what dobermann dogs went through
for the aesthetic reasons?
the snipping of the ears...
**** that...
            a dog doesn't look
so pristine with that procedure...
what? m.g.m.
happens to boys all the time...
o.k., o.k. (leo getz style)
just give me that bull-head's
worth of a rottweiler...

                and that's pretty much
all i have to "bemoan"...
i really, ha, ha, really want a dog
to walk with me into
the forest at night...
i'm pretty ******* sure
than no woman would...

           i did, i tried, i failed,
                i just don't know how
to escape the mystery of my own
******* sometimes,
the mysteries of the universe
aren't exactly consolatory compensation...

so yeah... world war II doesn't
exactly belong in the history books
for me...
   the poor woman died in 2011 / 2012...
i still remember her shack
of an apartment,
   and that one story
                  where a beehive
nested in the wardrobe on
her balcony...
            and how she wasn't stung...

yes, in Poland i would experience
social pressures,
calls of abnormality,
   but in England,
being the foreigner...
      led zeppeling: immigrant song...
i'm just your average joe...
           i was warned:
England is the country
of single people...
               i guess i just managed
to fit the criteria...
                      (cry-tier-ya)...

problem, what problem?
    i already have my head up
my own ****
    enjoying myself with
self-deprecating humour...
                         well... that's that, i guess.