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| From here |
My love for him began suddenly, my heart racing like the legs of
an ant trapped within the unyielding, sticky hold of amber, my pupils dilating
as I became a bear in desperate search of a beehive but with less flailing; my
need for his love and his honey-sweet smile much like the saliva dribbling from
the gaping maw of the aforementioned bear before it closes its teeth around the
mostly-spherical orb of wax that the also aforementioned beehive consisted of,
but the bitter worry of rejection stung like a horde of furious, now-homeless
bees.
By Beth Roberts
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