A story of women as magic, of fear, and of the male inability to speak aloud
Author’s Column by Tymur Levitin
Series: Light in the Dark – A Man’s Voice on Loss
🔗 Russian original: https://timurlevitin.blogspot.com/2025/12/blog-post_41.html
She was magic.
And still — she did not stay.
He could not hold her.
He could not even name her.
She was a witch.
She was a bird.
She was light.
And then she was gone.
The Little Witch
The rock band Rokostrova once sang about a woman like her:
“Little witch, the night is reflected
in your hazel eyes…
And the lie of a kiss, a sweet poison,
will close on your scarlet lips…”
She is the breath of night — a force beyond explanation.
He is enamored, conquered, undone.
He doesn’t fight.
He is already under her spell.
This is not a love story.
This is a story of obsession — of magic.
He whispers:
“I can do anything — just tell me…”
He is no longer a subject.
He is enchanted.
And she leaves.
She does not burn him.
She does not save him.
She simply — disappears.
And he remains.
Without her.
Without himself.
Woman as Fear
He does not say “I love you.”
He says: “You are a witch.”
Because he is afraid.
Afraid to admit she is stronger.
Afraid she sees more.
Afraid she feels before he even begins to understand.
He calls her magic so he won’t have to call her a human being.
Men rarely know how to acknowledge another’s strength —
especially a woman’s.
So he stays silent.
Or writes songs.
Or walks away.
The One Who Never Took Flight
She could have become a bird.
She could have stayed.
She could have flown — with him or without him.
But she did not.
Not because she didn’t want to.
But because she didn’t need to.
And he did not hold her.
He didn’t even try.
What Men Do Not Say
He never calls her by her name.
He calls her by an image.
A witch.
A bird.
Light.
Rain.
He says:
“She was…”
“She could have…”
“I waited for her to say…”
“I will allow anything — just tell me…”
He is all waiting.
She is all acting.
She chose.
He did not.
Why Do We Sing About This?
Because we cannot say it any other way.
A man will not confess:
“I am afraid you will leave.”
He will say:
“You are like a witch.”
He will not say:
“I didn’t make it in time.”
He will say:
“You flew away like a bird.”
Songs are our form of confession.
We sing the words we cannot pronounce.
What Matters
A woman is not guilty of knowing.
She simply is.
And we — we learn to remain beside her.
If we fail to learn it,
we stay in a room without her.
Next Article in the Series
“The One Who Breathed Through Me”
About women who live inside us — even when they are gone.
© Tymur Levitin
Author’s Series “Light in the Dark. A Man’s Voice on Loss”
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