I want this soul to stop leaking.
I want it to stop drowning while carrying the weight of all the worlds that have died.
I want it to take a deep breath and feel the sun once more.
I want it to stop existing for words never spoken and things never felt.
„Whenever I try to make it through one pandemic day without something witchy on me, it does not end well“, I tell my witch.
Only a few days ago, I have been trying to make it through an afternoon of pandemic teaching without something black or ripped apart on me, and I had a breakdown in slow motion.
While cleaning the white board, and hearing the child that I was teaching scribbling something down behind me, I felt the glass box seperating us and my thoughts kept telling me that I could not get closer to her, nevermind what would happen. And when I was home, I tried to convince my unicorn that life was not worth it and was over and any other opinion was rediculous, until I collapsed into my bed, bit into my pillow and kicked the cushions to finally fall into a surreal kind of sleep.
„I think I should rip some holes into these tights, just to be safe“, I explained to my witch and she agreed.
Mistress witch writes 