„How can you be so sure that this it not it?“, she asks the boy with the dramatic eyes a question she knows she should avoid, as the witch is watching from the distance.
Sitting by the river, probably, and having some vanilla ice cream.
As their eyes meet, they kiss.
„This could easily be the moment“, she insists the second his lips leave hers, without having tried to catch her breath at all. „The one last moment, before it all collapses.“ And both their eyes wander down the bridge they are standing on, as it slowly moves with the wind.
„But it wasn‘t“, he reminds her, the dramatic eyes searching his own far distance for the demon usually by his side, now hiding in the shadow the huge buildings cast in the burning sun.
„So the next one could be“, she keeps talking, with a voice that could say so many sweet things.
A voice that once talked about reaching for the stars, when the clouds were violet.
A voice that had once been used to ask the dramatic sky in June for rain.
A voice that rings in the ear for quite a while, scratching the surface of skin, sometimes tasting blood.
„And if it was?“, he asks and she knows that he is done for now.
She feels it and already sees him leaving in her thoughts.
„Then why do I love you, when we are going to crash into the sea the very next second?“, she asks. „Why did I get this idea of being with you, when this body is going to break the next moment?“
And as their reluctant eyes meet, they kiss again, although his lips are tighter this time.
He is ready to leave.
The bridge has not crashed yet.
The volcano never erupted.
No city has been nuked yet.
„Because it‘s nice“, he says and tears run down her face.
“Will we live enough for the clouds to be violet again?”
“Will there be rain one more time?”
The most desperate tears both of them have ever seen.
He takes his lips back, and walks away into the distance, where his demon mirrors in a huge window catching the sunlight.
Have I been her?
Much too often.
But at least I have my witch.
Mistress witch writes 