Fleeting tale

Tonight, it‘s raspberry cream that is keeping us awake.
„I want more!“, I yell at my witch over the noise of beating the cream, while she still hums to the music reaching us from the living room.
My kitchen has beige-golden tiles on the floor. On the black table between a snake plant and napkins with roses printed on, is where we had all the rounds of Vanilla Latte and a leaking soul.
„I just want to hold on to things“, I explain to Layla as I keep the mixer on, although the cream already started to show waves on the surface. „I want hands to be there for more than holding on to nothing and letting nails cut into the skin.“
„That would make a nice poem, if it wasn‘t screamed into this noise“, Layla giggles.
Just a few more seconds, I think as I want to convince the cream to make it through just long enough.
„I don‘t want to collect more people that were nice to have, until it‘s over and everyone just continues their own journey. I have enough of that!“
Layla keeps singing to herself, wearing a long black dress I am planning on stealing from her as soon as it gets warmer, as well as the flowers in her hair. „I think we all have a lot of those“, she finally admits.
„But I want something else“, I carefully say into the silence, as the cream seems to finally be ready.
„More than all the others have?“, my witch mocks my words, holding the raspberries ready in a black bowl on her lap.
Yes, now the raspberries.
And hoping that the cream could take it.
„If that is more than all the others have, I don‘t know how to live“, I admit.
And as the cream turns pink, I have to think of all the sunsets we have watched on a field, and how often I had said these words.
„Why are things made to break?“, I ask, as the cream is pink and just as creamy as I want it to be. „Why are people set to leave? Why am I even supposed to do things if everything is taken away from me and this is just supposed to be normal?“
My witch shrugs and reaches out with one finger, to try the cream, and her round eyes becoming much rounder to tell me that the recipe works out.
„I could say that it‘s for witches to cook another potion, or to learn another spell“, Layla responds to my words. „Or for demons to set another foot into this world, but honestly, I think it‘s simply because people are fucking stupid.“
I rise an eyebrow as I also try the cream, even though from my dead grandmother‘s old silver spoon I have had ready.
And I have to agree with my witch.
The cream was very good, and people were fucking stupid.

So, now we‘ll use this cream to build the most delicious cake we‘ll eat all on our own, just because we can.

We definitely need this cake tonight.
Having a piece of cake means holding on to something for a little moment.
“I want to hold on to things”, I tell my witch.
“Cake is easier to hold than ghosts.”

Layla smiles at me sadly. “I wish I could say that those that left were not worth it, and that the right ones will come around, but things are not that simple and those sayings are hiding how heartbreaking life can be.”