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Journey of the Honeybee
(ongoing series)




I fled west… towards the expansive wilderness to suture my wounds.

“Do you have anything for heartbreak?” I sheepishly ask the woman behind the counter. I feel her desire to hold my heart as she smiles compassionately. Shying away instinctively, I lower my gaze, my eyes fill with tears at this stranger’s empathy.

I’m not used to pulling away…

“Pachamama,” she advises delicately. Mother Earth provides solace to those who seek Her embrace.

—the grieving honeybee

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In the subliminal states before waking, I reach out in hopes it was all a bad dream and that you'll be there to wrap your arms around me, pulling me in and nuzzling into the back of my neck as we melt together before getting up for work. I blink my eyes open, expecting to see yours glittering softly back at me in awe.

Then I remember the void... the dreams we lost, like this sand, which now slips through my fingers.

I wander through the Desert of Time trying to find something, I don't know yet what, cursing as I step on a cactus spine. Perhaps I'm searching for you, mirrored in the Nature you loved how I related everything to. Perhaps I'm searching for myself and the wild woman I lost somewhere along the way.

"Be strong," you told me, to never stop being my wild self. I'm trying, miodku, I'm trying.

—the searching honeybee




Is it okay if I just collapse now? I'm so very tired of feeling... everything.

Some days are for allowing things to be as they are. Not for identifying with the pain or forcing a narrative, but just for being. If that means lying in the sand and crying, so be it. I'll lie here until I am no longer electrified.

—the exhausted honeybee

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The day that broke me... with that deafening silence on the other end of the phone.

I become so small again in this frigid rain, shrinking into myself. I yearn to be seen, cherished, and loved for all that I am, not just my sweet honey.

Please, hold me. The cold provides me no comfort here.

—the lost honeybee

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