What the Witch Told Me

A dream that surfaced quietly, where I was walking through an ancient place, stone beneath my feet, silence all around, when I came across a veiled woman, a witch or a wanderer, who spoke of love as prophecy. It felt distant, like a story unfolding in a place I’d never been, about someone who might never come.

It spoke of a love that felt both destined and out of reach, the kind that exists more in echoes than presence, more in longing than in fact.

Maybe the dream didn’t come on its own. Maybe it was stirred by a song I once played too often. Or maybe it belonged to someone else entirely, just passing through me.

For some, the dream might still be waiting. For others, it may never arrive at all.

05/24/2024-11:06AM

She sat with a veil drawn low. The room dim, the silence ancient. She took my cup with hands like whispers, flipped it, and sighed.
She said:
My son, you were not born for an easy love. Yours is a tale written with ash and ember, a journey carved through locked gates and guarded doors.
The woman of your fate, she lives in a castle no man can enter. Its walls are high, its stones are old, and soldiers in silver guard every corridor.
There are torches that never go out, and laws that have never been broken.

My son, you will love her. Oh, how you will love her. Her eyes will unmake you. Her voice will soften the world. She will speak and the wind will listen.
But she is not yours to hold. She belongs to the kingdom, to bloodlines and duty, to stories that began before your name was spoken.

You will try. You will ride through rain and ruin. You will stand at her gate with flowers and fire in your hands.
You will write her name on every sky. But the guards will not move. The doors will not open. And she,
She will watch from the highest tower, with love in her eyes and chains at her ankles.

I have read many cups, but none like yours. Yours is written in storm. Fated to chase, never to catch.
Fated to give, never to keep.

Your road is narrow, lined with roses and thorns.
You will love a thousand times, and still feel the absence of one.
You will live like a king in exile, crowned in memory, dethroned by fate.

You may love a thousand times, and be loved in return by hearts both kind and true.
But none will hold you the way her memory does.
None will echo through your soul like the sound of her name.
For hers was not just love, it was the flame that lit your shadow, the wound that taught you longing.
And no matter how far you roam, no touch will ever feel like home… except hers.