To the Disconnected Witch

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A marrow-deep reminder for when you can’t feel your kin.

You, the one who still whispers thank you to the wind.
Who watches the moon like it’s your oldest friend.
Who pours intention into your tea and lights candles in places where no one else notices the dark—

Yeah. You.

I see you.

And I know.

Because some days, being a witch feels like carrying a torch in a place where all the matches stayed wet.

You’ve got fire in your bones—stories, spells, scars—and still, the silence around you stretches like fog. It swallows your smoke. It chokes your voice. And no matter how much magic you pour into the world, no one seems to echo back.

You walk through forests and cracked sidewalks alike, heart open like a compass, hoping you’ll feel someone. Some flicker. Some hum. Some proof that you aren’t the only one tuning into the old rhythms.

And when all you get is static?

Gods, it’s lonely.

Let me say this plainly:

Just because you can’t feel us doesn’t mean we aren’t there.

Witches are weird like that. We flare up and go quiet.
We retreat into gardens, grief, old books, new scars, and too-small apartments.
We live in cities that forgot how to breathe, in towns where no one remembers the old names.
We raise kids. We bury parents. We lose ourselves. We get tired.
We hide.

And still—we’re here.
Scattered. Strange. Stubborn.
Just like you.

You’re not without your thread.
You’re not lost.
You’re the lighthouse.

You are the one holding the line when no one else will.
You carry the song of memory, even if it feels more like a hum in the distance than a full-blown hymn.
You are the witch that remembers.

So here’s what I want you to do tonight:

🕯️ Light one candle. Just one.
🗣️ Whisper, “I am not alone.” Even if you don’t believe it. Especially if you don’t believe it.
✋ Touch the ground with your bare hands. Dirt, concrete, wood floor—it doesn’t matter. Just anchor.
💨 Breathe like your breath is a prayer for every witch who forgot how.

We’ll find each other in the echoes.
We always do.

And until then—
Carry your torch.
Even if it smokes.
Even if it sputters in the wet.
Even if no one sees you yet.

Because we’re watching for the light.

🖤 You are not alone.

Not in the wilds.
Not in the cities.
Not in the quiet.




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