„I’m not sure how I‘m gonna make it, just know that I‘m gonna“, I repeat the words of my witch and I know that I will be telling this myself every two minutes for the next few days.
Those were the words of my witch, when she was wearing a white gown.
Covered in
sweat and dirt
and blood and tears
and his steps
in the hall,
and his words
in her heart
and his hands
on her skin
and her guilt
covering
the darkness
of this
world.
They became my words, when I was sitting next to the blue painting
on the white wall
and there was
a question
to the universe
which no one
ever answers
and his words
were opening up
a scar
which had healed
in silence
but had kept
bleeding.
„Maybe one day, you will not just manically whisper this to yourself, but actually believe me“, my witch giggles into a melancholy summer night.
“Maybe one day”, I agree and stare onto the sky that went from blue to violet in a smooth shade.
“But until then, everyday will be full of questions I want to have answered but never be forced to ask.”
The latest Dystopia confusion – or what vaccines, glasses, and sunscreen suddenly have in common.
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Keeping the connection – About taking the next step
I remember standing on the same field where I spent most of the past unnerving months. Listening to the same three accords throughout a song reminded me of time passing, of the feeling of spending time with people while doing something special together. Studying for an exam, rehearsing a song, going on a trip -…
Of memories and ashes
Once you were thereTwo minutes afterWith coffee and rainI will rememberThe way that we wereThe world has felt whole. Once we were thereIt was a ThursdayWith tea and a smileI will always rememberIt made me forgetThat the world has got holes. I want this to beThe one thingTo hold on toTo fill up the holesWe…
Mistress witch writes 