My name is Mary . I’m like Polish coffee—slightly bitter, but with a warm aftertaste. I love the rain, old books, and people who know how to listen to silence. Sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong era—too much romance in my head and too little patience for the rush of modern life. Warsaw is my city. It’s not perfect, but that’s what makes it honest. Every stone on the pavement knows what pain and rebirth feel like. I love walking through the streets of the Old Town, where the walls whisper stories that have survived war and love. Warsaw teaches me to be strong, even when I want to be fragile. Here, I’ve learned not to fear solitude—it’s become my companion. I live between the lines—between the hum of trams and the morning light that slips through the curtains. Warsaw isn’t just a place; it’s a feeling. And I am its reflection.