The Tiger and it's Lover

Wasp

A Wasp.

Always an insistent humming in your ear.

Of course, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You fell in love with the humming, just as you did the Wasp.

You met the Wasp many moons ago.

You had been hunting for prey, when you first came upon it.

It was lying still on a rock, small wings of glass unfurled, basking in the sun.

You sat, and despite your face and paws being bloodied, you observed it.

You watched as it's body shimmered in the sunlight.

And when it had noticed you, it's wings started to hum.

It lifted from the rock, landing on your nose softly, like a flower petal.

'Why, hello there.' It had said.

'Hello.' You had said back, enraptured by the small beauty.

'No one dares to spend their time observing me,' It said, 'Always too scared I might sting them. They always go to the honeybees, watching as they pollinate. What makes you so different?'

'You are much more beautiful than any mere honeybee.' You rumbled.

'Oh my, as are you.' The Wasp had sung, flustered.

And since then, you travel back to that rock everyday, intent to see the Wasp, to listen to it's ramblings, content to just listen.

You fell in love with the Wasp, it's beauty and kindness.

The Wasp had fallen back, entranced by your stripes and fur, your large eyes and sharp fangs.

You have known the Wasp for many moons.

You have loved the Wasp for many, many moons.