I come from elsewhere,
where the land is flat
and the sky always seems close.
Here,I learned
that hills speak too-
a slower language,
one I never knew I needed.

I wasn't looking
for a place like this-
only for someone.
But now I find myself
walking streets
where I know no one,
yet feel everything.

Głuchołazy
doesn't raise its voice.
It speaks in shadows on old stone,
in the creak of wooden doors,
in corners where time
gathers like dust
with stories no one ever wrote down.

I wasn't born here,
and history
never carried my name.
But the town doesn't question me.
It opens slowly,
like a hand
not asking,
but accepting.

Between the sound of the river
and the scent of pine,
I toch something
I cannot fully understand,
but have come to trust.

I live here now,
between someone else's past
and my own unexpected present.
Love brought me,
but the place itself
has held me
in ways I didn't foresee.

Głuchołazy
is no longer just a name on a map,
but a quiet voice within-
a new kind of silence
I've come to understand
from the inside out.