Today it is the seventh of November, 2020, and I look back.
I am an old soul, and a witch, yes.
He -the old soul- has joined in the silence that we now share. An open space of nothingness, in which we do nothing but understand. It is peaceful, although it happens sparingly.
She -the spirited, the young one, who does not answer- she did not change. I fear for her wellbeing, but I cannot tear down my fragile walls. She keeps trying to connect with me, and I keep saying no. She does not understand.
There is a fourth. I have known her for a long time, almost six years now. I may be an introvert, but she is under my care.
Alas, so I thought. She does not share everything -is she a Scorpio?
And the spirited and the secretive one have spent much time together in the past few months, whether that be physically or virtually.
Now, she told me she has the very same problem that I had. But she cannot build walls, she needs protection, but I cannot give her that.
The spirited takes so much, and it is becoming a serious trouble.
If she were to ever read this -she is very much able to do so- I hope she understands.
But that is hope, nothing,
but hope.
YOU ARE READING
Under the moonlight
PoetryPoems and thoughts. ...What else am I supposed to do? These are things I wrote down the way I think, with sweltering anger and invigorating joy, in tears and smiles. I dearly hope you will take these words as advice, to live by and never to forget. ...
