„What if I loved you with all my heart and skin and soul?“, the witch whispers into an oncoming storm.
What if she did?
What if she loved you with all of her heart?
She loved you with all of her heart, but it was soaked in blood.
What if she loved you with all of her skin?
She loved you with all of her skin, but it was scarred.
What if she loved you with all of her soul?
She loved you with all of her soul, but it was unbound.
Is a heart not meant to be full of blood?
To be pumping and beating?
To be alive?
Is a skin not allowed to wear its scars?
Its traces of older days?
Of wounds that healed?
Is a soul not meant to be unbound?
To fly off into the world?
And wonder?
„Maybe yours was too?“, she sighs.
Your heart soaked and leaking?
Your skin so scarred by days that still got hold of you?
Your soul so free, it flew away a moment to soon?
„If so“, the witch giggles as rain starts to pour. „Why can‘t we do all this together?“
Why can’t we soak and leak, and wear our scars and wonder all together?
Would we drown?
Would scars burst open?
Would we lose hold?
„I want to find out.“
Mistress witch writes 