On my way to him, I felt a sparkle.
My hair felt longer and my nose more slim.
I was on my way to him
and a tale grew into a song inside of me
and a path was suddenly clear.
My cheeks started burning,
I began to dream,
and I was asking the stars,
was pleading with the universe:
Why can‘t I have this flame
without casting a shadow?
Why can‘t this body be felt
without it‘s horrors?
Why can‘t this body be loved,
without blood turning black,
breath to get lost,
and decay?
We already feel,
and with doing so,
we tear apart
whatever we are.
I want to have been his,
and him to be all over me,
and find with me
whatever joy precedes the darkness.
„I never had a chance to follow that path“, I tell my witch.
„Being a witch means to never accept things the way they are, and desperately fight for a better world“, Layla answers. „To love, without having your uterus torn apart a year later, eat just for the taste, and drink for the pirouettes in your thoughts.“
I am dreaming of a fairytale, without dying horribly.
Mistress witch writes 