Pollen was smitten; recognized it because it felt like the first time the bees came to her. Buzzing and fat, heavy with the collection of pollen and the making of honey and that’s how her heart starts to feel - fat and heavy and gooey, with an emotion that she’s heard of, dreamt of, but never once thought she’d feel. Least not this fast, not like this but it’s like falling head over heels for the bees that buzz around her and the emotion welling up in her leaves her buzzing from the inside out.
Queen bee, queen bee! Shouts every fiber of her being, echoing what the bees said about her and it’s how she feels about the glass-girl pressed against her. Should it feel like this so fast? So tender in the infant stages of infatuation, but Pollen is drug under and over like a wild garden of fragrant blooms made over into orderliness. Her attention never fails to waver and for the first time, the bees fail to interrupt her thoughts and they seem to settle into the background.
She swears she can feel the touch of lips on the purple aster in her pale hair. Feel it all the way down deep in her soul. It’s a touch that she wants to keep forever, like a petal in a locket clasped tight to her chest. Remembering will have to do, and she settles for tucking it away in a piece of brain that won’t forget - that will pull it up for her to dream about, as if she needs more to while the hours away with.
Her ears and eyes fixate on the mouth through which the voice of heaven pours from. Pollen thinks this could be what angels sound like, fine silk that is somehow both rich and soft, delicate and strong. It reverberates through her as much as those dreamy sighs do, and she laughs as she remarks, “But they love you too!” It’s true, they do.
Pollen’s bees have migrated from her to the glass-girl inside which galaxies spin. She thinks it is the colors that intrigue them as they smack themselves against her glass skin at first then settle their frenzied selves into alighting carefully along her neck and spine. They communicate back to Pollen about how smooth and slick she is beneath their feet, and she laughs again.
“They’ve never seen anything like you, neither have I.” The two of them gravitating to one another like lost planets in search of a familiar orbit, and she weakens further beneath the glass-girl’s touch of nose to alone. It is a cool small comfort that Pollen delights in. “Oh…” she murmurs dreamily, so thoroughly enchanted that she had forgotten to introduce herself.
How could names matter? But she is curious now, as to what this beautiful creature might be called. Her lips curl up in a teasing smile, “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours,” not that she hadn’t expected the girl to. It just seemed easier and sweeter somehow to tease, to shift so that their skins could touch just a little more. “I’m Pollen.”
@[clementia] long overdue and I’m sure they’re older now but this is such a cute thread!