Branches and leaves tangled up in messy hair, blood leaks from tiny wounds here and there. A soakinh wet dress, of course, and a smile on those lips as if kissed just now.
That is how my witch just came home, ready to sing.
„You feel so far away today.
Your path leads north,
but mine does not.
I came across a field just now.
I thought that you might
like it.
Golden in grain,
The sky blue with a storm.
I felt your smile.
I heard your voice.
I spoke those words
that once were yours,
and jumped into the golden sea.
My skin was touched,
was tickled and scratched,
almost as much
as I‘d ask of you
and almost as good
as you would have done.
This is me without you.
I talk to myself,
my skin is not hole.
This is me without you.
Please come back,
tomorrow,
the day after,
or the day after that.
This is me without you.
Please meet me at the end of the world.“
It’s a melody to sing with a hot chocolate in both hands as the evening defeats the summer still.
Mistress witch writes 