Tonight‘s tale could have taken place anywhere, as long Dystopia was still lingering around.
All it needs is a bottle of wine and cheeks ready to be kissed and blush.
There probably was candle light, too.
As well as fairy lights decorating a bookshelf and shining onto two bodies.
Sometimes sitting opposed to each other.
Or lying together.
One of those bodies was older than the other.
She was quite a bit younger than him.
There was a lot of her.
Curvy and smooth.
She was a lot to take.
A lot to kiss.
A lot to hold.
Sometimes, she did not quite hold it together.
Just as in that one night, when she said out of nothing: „I want to get my tubes tied.“
And he looked her so sad, she almost slapped his pretty face.
Her hand was twitching and felt ready, but he had a very pretty face.
A face she had always wanted to have next to her.
A face she had wanted to see heated up with lust.
Or colored in surprise.
A face that was older than her.
He was quite a bit older than her.
He had lived a life in a world that she did not get along with.
So, when she reached for the bottle of wine, she filled her glass up to the edge and gulped it all down.
He shook his head.
„I don‘t believe a thing you say in moments like this“, were his words into the almost dark room and she felt another wave of fury arrive.
But maybe this time he kissed it all away.
Transferred it into the heat they enjoyed between each other.
Until the next time, which could have taken place in the light of day.
In the light too bright for eyes to handle, so that she would grow scared of tomorrow.
„There will always be another day“, is what he would say.
„But maybe not another you and me“, was her response, because the world was burning.
Maybe there was a war.
Or a plague.
Or starvation and burning forests.
Ar all of it, or parts of it.
And she still had to figure out how to live.
While he had already accomplished that.
And he expected her to do so too, as he reached for her hand.
He was ready to guide her.
But she said: „I mean all the things I say in these moments! I mean all the things about life you do not want me to say!“
„You are not the first one saying and thinking these things“, was his response. „And the world is still there.“
I have been her much too often.
And I wish it was a love story, not a story ending in the flickering light on a small and quiet train station, where one train would probably take her back into a buzzing city to forget about all of this for a few hours more, and another one straight home to sulk.
Mistress witch writes 