„Early in my life, I had to understand that my family was broken and very soon stopped being real. Then, I experienced passionate love to turn into rage and result in knifes being pointed. The last thing to which I committed were my friends, and now that is gone too. There once was a warm feeling in this world that could grow into my chest ; when someone was close, or when two voices came together to agree on word and tone.
I fear that it is forever lost.
I have felt so many things that were never real.
I fear everything that is still real.“
In those moments I do not know if it was my witch or me who had spoken, but I also doubt that it still matters. We face this wall together, we empty our bottles of wine together, and we dream of tasting something else, together.
Someone’s warmth.
Someone’s tongue.
Cotton candy and a sip of beer instead of wine.
Once, I have explained that witches do explore needs that do not belong into this world.
I did not know that it is heartbreaking what kind of needs are condemned not to belong into this world, once Dystopia shows its true face. But then again, if it were different, and witches really were just weird people dreaming of useless shit, would they have ever become this fascinating and survived this long?
Mistress witch writes 