In that moment which I am now writing about, the world had been leaking, wounded and sour, and my witch had been fallen down on her knees, and had been pleading once more with the one who owned her witching heart. And of the many words that could have left her lips in that moment, it only were those she would have never wanted to stand between them both that she spit out into the burning spring afternoon.
„I wish that you had let me die“, she said, thinking about having been found by him all those years ago. „I wish that I had jumped right out of the window instead of finding your heart made of stone!“
He was wearing hos coat, his terrible mask bound around his belt, and he was ready to leave into a world so cruel, while she was standing in front of him, wearing a dress she had loved to feel his eyes on.
And she was not done yet.
„You are a cruel and heartless monster“, she continued with a shaking voice. „I wish to die right here in front of you, to see if any pain could even reach you, but I doubt it would!“
And all of these words of darkness spit into the rose flavoured dusk were only meant to tell how much she feared the next moment in which he would walk out of the door and begin his next adventure saving the world, and risking never coming back to her.
Would she ever get a chance to say another word to him?
Would she ever smell his hair again?
Would she ever find out if he was able to comprehend her pain?
„Sometimes, we don‘t get any of the answers we wish to“, Layla tells me, „Because the universe will send another plague, a war, or whatever else good and humble, or even honorable reason to die for right into our way.“
And now my fury is burning up once more.
„I fucking hate you!“, I scream at her. „You fucking robot!“
How can she so easily accept the pain we shared?
And why couldn‘t our hearts be saved as well?
Why I am not a nice girl
I am not your nice, Christian girl next door, as you might have noticed. And this is not a role I play for this blogging project, or to promote my writing and music. This is me, and I stick to it, even when it gets complicated, and believe me: It becomes an issue more often…
Intimate tale
I yearn for those moments,When I existedsolelyin your eyes.When I wasnothingBut an image causingCuriosity.I lived in those momentsWhen you knewNothingAbout the scarsBetween myThighs.Moments that werePure and softAnd kept mySecretWithout anyFalsity.In those momentsI felt loveFor all the thingsYou mustn’tKnow.All the thingsWent looseWithin myHeadAnd found their wayOnto myTongue.I still amThese momentsWhen I hadYouAnd you deniedThe thingsI wanted…
The tale of mental health in a burning world
“Wanna feel better?”, my witch asks me as she presents tonight’s options. Do we want to get drunk and risk a headache? Do we want to try out yoga again although we’ve never managed to take it seriously? Do we want to escape the last traces of reality by watching a sitcom and ignoring the…
Mistress witch writes 