„That was sweet“, my witch said as we were looking at old photographs of me having curly hair and being in love with Mr. Rainbow, „But seriously, it had to go wrong.“
Old! I did not want them to be old!
I had wanted to look like Tori Amos in 1996 and therefor had slept with my hair in many small braids. Red enough they had always been, after all. Also, I had not wanted to feel sad anymore, so I had always had one of her songs on my lips, ready to burst out, as soon as no one was around anymore.
„I would have never been with him“, I muttered into my glass of tea. „It was just impossible.“
I did not want the curly-hair-me loving Mr. Rainbow to be an old photograph!
„But that was never the point, right?“, Layla said.
My witch knew me so well. „That was never the point.“
Oh, the world had felt so much better when that had not been the point.
When there had been bold dreams, because everything had felt save enough to dare things.
„I can‘t stand the expression in my eyes back then“, I went on.
The flames of the vanilla scented candles reflected beautifully in my cinnamon flavored tea, and I realized that I was not at all ready for the cozy and warm feeling of the year ending with dreamful winter nights, although I really wanted this year to end.
„Time is cruel“, Layla said.
„I do not want to let go of this shit right now, because it puts all of that far more into the distance“, I replied. „The vest that he was wearing. The shock in Anne‘s face when she realized how I observed him. The cherry-beer afterwards. Just the opposite of this neverending silence.“
„When I waited for him, I had to find a new way to survive each day“, my witch whispered. „Sometimes even every few hours. But in a way, it was wonderful, because it was full of hope. Furious hope, cursing the whole universe for any indication of being in vane!“
„And?“
There was this shadow again, that sometimes took over Layla‘s eyes. „Then he returned, and days flew away as if they had never really been. And one day he left again, and never returned. And for a short time, I still had to survive from day to day.“
Oh yes, time was so cruel.
Why I am not a nice girl
I am not your nice, Christian girl next door, as you might have noticed. And this is not a role I play for this blogging project, or to promote my writing and music. This is me, and I stick to it, even when it gets complicated, and believe me: It becomes an issue more often…
Intimate tale
I yearn for those moments,When I existedsolelyin your eyes.When I wasnothingBut an image causingCuriosity.I lived in those momentsWhen you knewNothingAbout the scarsBetween myThighs.Moments that werePure and softAnd kept mySecretWithout anyFalsity.In those momentsI felt loveFor all the thingsYou mustn’tKnow.All the thingsWent looseWithin myHeadAnd found their wayOnto myTongue.I still amThese momentsWhen I hadYouAnd you deniedThe thingsI wanted…
The tale of mental health in a burning world
“Wanna feel better?”, my witch asks me as she presents tonight’s options. Do we want to get drunk and risk a headache? Do we want to try out yoga again although we’ve never managed to take it seriously? Do we want to escape the last traces of reality by watching a sitcom and ignoring the…
Mistress witch writes 