Oh, to be a witch living in a small domicile with the girl that you so much cherish; to have her read her original spells to you, your back against her chest, your head resting on her shoulder as she runs her fingers through your hair, whilst she uses the other hand to hold her grimoire. To run through the decorated by Beltane’s inflorescence meadows, with hands clasped, to pick up flowers and make each other pretty flower crowns. To write vows on bay leaves and burn them, letting the smoke fly out of the window so the universe and all it’s magical entities know that your souls are united.
i want a girl to gush about me to her friends. to talk about me when i’m not around. to mention me as her partner whenever the time arises! it’s so sweet
