But what do daydreams really mean?
April had seemed like an eternity, and suddenly it was almost May. The first nights had kept their summer heat, potatoes and strawberries were planted … Oh, and face masks were starting to get obligatory in public.
Oh shit, it‘s already May.
We‘ve lost our spirit of life in March, and suddenly it‘s May.
I had cut an old t-shirt to make my first face mask to go to the store later. I really hated sewing, what definitely let to me wearing a very dystopic cloth on my face. Oh, and also to me crying desperately from one moment to the other.
Crying, because the world felt so different, and I still remembered how it felt before.
Crying, because remembering makes my whole body urge for things that are gone now.
Crying, because I am drowning, and it feels like nothing is taking over.
I remembered someone that I had wanted to kiss.
I remembered someone that I had wanted to him ask out on something really stupid but fun.
I could feel the echo of those thoughts in my body. I had been so sure about anything like that to happen. I was hungering for it.
I was hungering for something, that had defined my life only a few weeks ago.
I was hungering.
Maybe even for the first time in my life, I was hungering like this.
And when I closed my eyes, I could feel those thoughts even more (and also the needle finding its way into my skin – I really should remember to put them away before daydreaming).
I could feel the parts of my skin that I had expected to be touched by him even more.
I could feel my heart racing.
I could imagine his eyes, and how they enlightened in pleasure.
I could hear an echo of „Because the night“ by Patti Smith being played at our favorite bar, and my sudden desire to dance.
And then, my breath was stopped by tears taking over, almost suffocating me.
And I wondered, how I was supposed to feel my body with all of this only ever happening within my thoughts, and never really outside my skin. No, I did not wonder. I raged.
How am I supposed to feel myself?
To feel myself, without things happening?
To feel myself, with nothing taking over?
And of course, I could be mad at myself. Mad for, letting these old memories, these desires taking hold of me, and waking up this pain.
But I don‘t see it that way.
Opening my eyes, I could spot Layla taking care of the potted plants on the window sill.
Again, she wore a dark and long dress, her red curls flying everywhere.
And I had to remember her words about her past, the other night.
Had she even loved without ending in tragedy?
I asked myself that while observing how the shape of her body was elegantly absorbed by the wide dress that she was wearing.
I also realized that right now, the answer to this question did not really matter.
Layla guessed my thoughts as she saw the way I cried.
„Yes“, she would say amused. „Dreams were dreamed, orgasms were had.“ She put down a bowl full of cut parsley. „Some things never come true. Some things only were thought, were dreamed of …“
„And they are worth the pain“, I added.
Yes, I thought so.
I thought that right there crying over these lovely desires was my best option, because at least it was connected to the things I so would have needed to feel.
And as I, again, observed Layla … My witch that I summoned out of her reality in the 17th century, it occurred to me that these tearful and hurting daydreams of something originally wonderful were the most common thing in all of time.
Because the world had gone made so often, and desires had still be felt.
Painful daydreams and suffocating tears were one thing to fight nothingness taking over, and continue to feel real.
Mistress witch writes 