“Sometimes, a shadow knocks onto my door”, my witch giggles, with tears on her cheeks and flowers in her hair. “And when he does, I’m glad about my leaking soul.”
“I call him my shadow,
Because he moves too slow for eyes to see,
And lingers in those places where most souls won’t go.
I call him my ghost, sometimes,
When he seems too far away to ever return,
And too noble to be real.
He becomes my demon when my soul burns,
and I would tear the world apart to have him,
And curse his darkest purpose,
Which I love.
But when he’s my shadow,
He knocks on my door,
And I am glad about my leaking soul.
I carry my roses abd raindrops,
Into the darkness,
To join him.”
Who of us has ever been happy to love like that?
Mistress witch writes 