„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.
I wish I’d told you all my stories.
I want to tell you all my storiesIt’s not that they would changeIt’s just that I would likeTo see themFormA new expressionOn your face I need to tell you all my storiesI am not sureIf they makeSenseThe way I thoughtThey do. I will tell you all my storiesThey frighten meI’m sure you won’t endureI see…
Dealing with darkness in writing
This spring afternoon is glowing pink and tastes like strong tea. It feels much too familiar, and I begin to open up.I feel far away from myself as I start to talk, to babble on about my novel. About all the things I’ve been reading about in the past 5 years. About the 17th century,…
Radical witching novel rewrites at 4 AM!
I wore the same night dress my witch used to wear to get drunk on my windowsill, when I suddenly had an idea at 4 AM. Great ideas always happen at 4 AM, remember? This one however, kept me awake for at least a week, debating it back and forth. At some point my witch…
Mistress witch writes 