Once, she consisted of many parts.
They granted her all shapes and forms to exist in this world.
Some parts were a daughter,
to be loved and protected and sometimes laughed with.
Some parts were a sister,
to be sometimes admired and often envied, and always cared for.
Some parts were a friend,
to enjoy to be heard and given words to.
Other parts were a wife,
to be there in the end and fold the shirts and warm the sheets.
The hidden parts were lovers,
to hide in an alley and be absorbed by flames.
… and when Dystopia scattered these parts, a scarred skin only covers an empty frame.
Still searching for new shapes and forms.
My witching autumn desk
This was my longest quiet. My witch took a few weeks off. I have a lot of things to say, dark and urgent things! But my health made me pause everything. The first time in my life I’m saying that. I’ll be back in the next few days! Until then, enjoy the witching mood at…
Why do we stop doing things?
“When for health reasons we stop being ourselves, what is left then? ”, I complain to my witch just when the cold and dark season is ready to arrive. I am usually decorating a cake when the message I am dreading arrives. The pastry bag in hand, I read one cancellation after another. Of course,…
When we fall …
Who’ll be thereWhen we fall?Who will comeTo catch us all?Who’ll be thereIn the end? Late at nightI hear his voiceAnd I know thatHe waved her goodbyeThrough the noiseOf a world turning away. Laughter fromA window aboveBlurry lightsAnd I know thatShe gave upon loveRight there. And I wonderWho’ll be thereWhen we fall?Who will comeTo catch us…
