Rushing through the pages, my witch is drowned in the blue hour of the sunset.
„I don‘t want to be a tragedy!“, she demands, her voice shaking in an intensity that cuts through my chest.
When we become stories,
we become symbols.
What kind of story,
do you want to tell?
„I don‘t want to be a tragedy!“
But my heart is so heavy.
It pulls down my thoughts,
questioning it all.
When we become stories,
we become emotions,
lived through on a journey,
but where does it lead?
How will it end?
When we become stories,
we become an image,
that touches hearts,
is put up on a wall.
When we become stories,
we become symbols.
What kind of story
would you like to tell?
I don‘t want to be a tragedy.
Where do we go?
Where does it end?
Does it have to?
I don‘t like this ending.
Can I change it?
Can pick one?
One against all odds?
I don‘t like the odds.
Can I change them?
These are blue ones,
but I want them violet.
Can we escape the blue?
Or will it catch up?
“If it does,
let me jump off the edge,
before I turn into
a tragedy”,
she says as she drowns.
Mistress witch writes 