I woke up disoriented.
„I can‘t accept that they‘re just allowed to do it“.
The sunset is purple.
The cat is purring on my chest.
A sudden shudder is starting in my stomach and I don‘t know why.
„That they‘re just allowed to make the choice and leave“, I explain my seemingly random thought to my witch patiently waiting in the darkest corner of my room.
And she wonders why we both freak people out …
I once wrote about sunsets as a reason to cry, and I thought this was because of all the heartbreaking things happening in my life at the time, but by now I think that this time of day has a certain pain to it no matter what. This makes me think of reading Dracula when I was a teenager, and wondering how the early hours of sunrise, which I stayed up until much too often at the time, were described as a surreal and unsettling moment.
When in march the oncoming spring prolongs the borders of day and night, I have to sooth my soul.
Is it because the end of one day makes me wonder if its time was used adequately?
Is it because a new day to start holds the fear of what comes next?
Is there joy of starting another day?
Or fear that one day there may be the last one to come?
„I am not okay with people being allowed to just leave“, I repeat my words as the last sunlight begins to vanish from the room.
Layla is waiting for something supposed to be obvious that I do not seem to see.
„I am not okay with my body just being allowed to grow something bad that ends it all.“
„Yours isn‘t.“
„But it could.“
My voice is toneless.
From the sleep, as well as a bad infection I had been fighting recently.
„Everybody else is okay with these things.“
Layla laughs, but I am serious.
People live with days coming and going, knowing very well that their number is so limited.
We breathe in polluted air, smoke cigarettes and eat things bad for us, although the body is such a fragile, redicolous thing.
Sometimes, we pack our things and leave onto a path that is much more lonely that the one we just left behind, making some of our numbered days so lonely.
„Being human is so tough“, I tell my witch, as the sky is turning black and I search for the light switch on my nightstand. „The human experience can be so painful, and still we are supposed to end up happy somehow.“
“No one ends up happy”, my witch reminds me. “We end up dead. But sometimes we are lucky enough to trick the universe into a happy moment.”
Like I just said. Being human is so fucking tough.
Mistress witch writes 