Honey.

I couldn’t comprehend how Spring would bring new life when my heart was still buried in last September, decaying under the memories of you. But, Spring has come and gone and Autumn reigns again, bursting forth colorful displays that remind us all that there is beauty in the breakdown and life in letting go. Like the dance of the last honey bee enticing the Queen before Winter sets in, there is a beautiful evolution in the midst of a dance between the grandiose ideals of two manic lovers transforming into a loving bond discovered within the renewal of friendship, where compassion and understanding balance two chaotically impassioned hearts.

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Honey.

I remember our last days together before we parted ways.

I ran from the outdoors in my sundress with skin piercing through delicate folds of sheer fabric draped ’round my breasts. It didn’t even phase me because you had me in such a whirlwind that I could literally taste the fever saturating our hearts. There was something new and magical about this mania-fueled love affair we were breeding together because up until then, we had always danced alone. Alone, we had come to believe that our disorders were simply misguided and delusional displays of love, spirituality and passion. But, together. Now, together, it somehow seemed safe, as if we were on an exciting and divinely guided mission.

Running inside barefoot, cheeks flushed and blushed, I skidded into the sunroom where we made love the night before to Rumi and candlelight as soothing smoke from the hookah billowed a delicate veil around us. That morning, you and your father sat in the overstuffed armchair, surprised by my comedic entrance. Hair in knots and draping down my back, breasts on high alert and breathless, I waved hello with a smile.

I interrupted your conversation abruptly as you both stopped short and looked at me like two deer stunned in headlights. We had just finished gathering honey from the beekeeper’s hives, where I finally got a glimpse of the Queen. Fitting, as your father took another look at me and boldly said, “She’s Queen Material.” You smiled and bashfully looked at me with bright eyes, “She sure is. Thanks for doing everything … perfectly.”

I sighed while walking off, pretending not to hear a word because if I acknowledged what was said, it would dispel a perfect moment suspended in the air like the dust that was drifting through the cascading sunlight. If only your father knew the reality that was us; two hearts unraveling into one another’s, healing through raw expressions of residual pain from grief and heartbreak.

With any new and profound change, there is always a dose of pain intermixed with fear. The slap across my face was a brazen display of sexual frustration and desperation; stiff and intensely raw. Shattered wine glasses and shards scattered across the floors. Knives were pulled from drawers and wrestling ensued as you balanced apples on my head, aiming for the thrill. Food fights and furiously wicked words spit through the air. Intensity rose to a fever pitch as hidden rage boiled over and time ran wild between what now became like a brother and sister gnashing teeth, until we froze – raw and emotionally cut wide open with hearts bleeding on the kitchen floor. Our pain seeped into each other’s pools of grief and irrational fears as we became conscious of the fact that we were allowing the past pain to pollute the present and fleeting moment we had.

Forgiveness finally broke the chains, setting desire and healing into motion under the blood-red moon as it cast dancing shadows across our bare, honey-drenched skin. That evening, as we sipped coffee under the stars and spoke of the intense shift in this shared emotional space, you gently grasped my neck, pulling my forehead to yours so our eyes had no place to wander but deep within our own. I realized that the here and now, what we had in that moment, was perfect as is. No striving or desperation to sustain the intensity of flickering and fickle flames. We held onto this moment as we remembered where we had been and the end goal; to grow in love in all ways, either separate or as one.

You reminded me that nothing was guaranteed or permanent in the evolution of love except for the fleeting moment of reciprocal love itself.

And nothing was permanent in this unfamiliar and wild space we shared. We both knew where we were headed; down a very long and arduous road to recovery from what we deeply believed was sane and emotionally and spiritually satisfying. Something no one understood but those that had walked in our shoes. We had been through this before, but it was always a lonely road met with complete and utter silence. We now had one another with which to dance.

After our separation and successful attempts to right our wayward ships, we returned to each other as mirrors; masterfully repaired with the the healing of time and through the beauty of letting go of what was, while succumbing to what is; love in its purest form – friendship.

If you’re one of the lucky ones, you’ve encountered a soul who is willing to work through the chaotic, sticky process of unfolding and unraveling through the awakening of self, or you have been lucky enough to meet someone who is transforming at the same speed, mirroring the beauty within you as if it were pure magic. Whether lovers or friends, separated or not, through thick and thin, fire and ice, dirty or clean, in sickness or in health – you’re weathering the storm, awakened.

I was one of the lucky ones.

“Love has come to rule and transform. Stay awake, my heart, stay awake.” ~ RUMI

Our friendship is familiar, yet enticingly new. I speak to him in cautious tones, because I know it’ll take but a moment to fall back in. I have a profoundly compassionate heart for our journeys because we shared experiences and tripped over awakened states many couldn’t understand. I’m wildly inspired because I see him becoming the best version of himself, ever-evolving through the chaotic beauty impregnating this Universe. I test the manic waters because he challenges me with sticky, honeyed-love that saturates his core. It was always this way, like amber-colored royal jelly soaked in pheromones … stuck on him – a drone bee, once fit to be King.

I smell honey on your skin,
I hear echoes in your knees;
The shaking and the knocking …
Honey’s the best of these.

I feel blood dripping from your bones;
I taste the dew of daylight
Waking the fields of gold.

I sense the wonder of your eyes
and wander in your lips;
I hear the whispers of delight
As your top hat in nature tips.

I wrestle the nests in your hair
and the knots in your toes;
The sensation of triumph
As the only one who knows …

The last dance of the honey bee
Mirrored before the Queen

in his understated grace,
As Winter sets in and honey drips,
preserved in this unfamiliar space.

 

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