Paradoxically Yours...

The Sweetest Love Song

(prompt: song 6/10/2017)

He promised. With tears in his huge shining eyes he declared his undying love. "Nothing will come between us... ever," he vowed. And I believed him. No matter the strength or chill of winds from icy seas, the warmth of my love would be his shelter, his refuge. He promised.

Such a thrill-seeking adventurer. The perfect scout. Always searching for new food sources (and usually finding them in abundance), always on the lookout for the exact right home for us to start our new life. "Your precious taste of honey is sweeter than any wine," Bennett said to me, time after time. "I love you my darling Blanche. I WILL return." This time his foray would take him farther and wider than his usual seven mile radius.

"You will be my Queen - forever and a day. I will work like a slave to feed your every need, to protect you and provide for your slightest whim." What a hero in my eyes! His kind have been known for aeons for miraculous feats and Bennett was the perfect embodiment of being able to accomplish anything - anything at all - when his mind was set.

"You are sweeter than honey, more delectable than the most highly prized wine. I WILL return." And Bennett vowed his heart would stay behind for me to wear proudly until his triumphant homecoming, so I should never forget him... or his love.

As he kissed me goodbye who could tell which tears were mine, which were his? A last longing look over his shoulder, a blown kiss... and he was gone on a sudden gust of wind.

I waited. And waited. I tried to keep myself busy. From soldier to guard; to briefly scouting myself; even a short time working as an undertaker, removing the dead bodies. One benefit to that desolate duty - when aging members take over those jobs usually designated to the youth - your brain not only stops aging, but actually goes into reverse. Even so, the days turned into weeks, then months... but Bennett never returned. Whomever and wherever he found his new home, it was not for me. Or with me.

In memory, Bennett's kiss of honey (as he liked to describe our sweet exchanges), now tasted more bitter than bad wine. At last I'm old. I'm dying, and yet I dream still of that kiss. And once again, painfully, I hear his old, familiar song about returning for the honey... and me.

What a sting in the tail, Bennett.

How bittersweet to be a honey bee.