The Sweetness of Honey

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    Sometimes I am so filled with love it doesn’t seem real. Regardless of grandeur and decorum, sometimes just small acts from others tip me over an edge and it fills me up until it pours down my face. A professor saying I should be proud of my work and progress, my therapist saying that I bring them joy when I see them, and even when I’m feeling alone and enigmatic and I text a friend with an outlandish plan to run away and they simply respond with “where are we going?”. It fills my lungs with honey and I choke on it in bliss, hoping that I’m able to cough it up and savour the taste without suffocating- because what a beautiful sweetness it is, how overwhelming in such a good way it is. How could I ever live without my lungs full of honey. My face burns when it drips down my chin and I lick it from my lips. I keel over from coughing, falling to the floor as I expel the saccharine honey. Tears find their way across my cheeks to my jaw where they fall and I regard them as my smile reaches the edges of my face before I retch. Why can’t I breathe when I’m so full of love?

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