You don’t get to choose to be an ice witch. It’s brought upon you by life; by circumstances; by lovers. And once you get to be one, you get to freeze hearts, unconsciously. You pay the price. You divert all your energy towards something else. Sometimes it’s books, sometimes it’s art, sometimes it’s drink. Whatever you choose, you easily pay the ultimate price. You lose your friends, lose your past… sometimes you almost lose your life. For ice, as much appeal it holds, always longs to take their children back.
[ice witch: Dominika Katarzyna Borkowska.]
You can’t decide. Fueled by the pills, your life force, cheap alcohol, and random interpersonal encounters, you carry on. Sad is not an opposite of happy; dead is not an opposite of alive. They coexist. Whatever drugs get you running, they don’t replace something with something else. They add. This emotional concoction is barely bearable, but the drugs take care of that, too… mostly. The gnawing feeling catches up with you late at night. Coloring everything with panic, clenching your fists and your teeth, making you promise tomorrow will be different. Guess what: it won’t. You can’t fight your demons in the darkness, for they thrive on it. Reveal them in the daytime, though, and it’s all different: they get all the weaker… but scarier, too.
My head is full of such pictures; and of bright, searing light.
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