Mija is a funny and yet beautiful word that would make any girl melt at this Spanish term of endearment. Yet, I must wonder if when my love’s uela calls me mija if it is meant specifically for me, or is it a common term. Like when some call others honey, are they just being nice or do they really mean to call another honey.

Honey, like the sweet nectar crafted by bees from the pollen of the most bodacious chrysanthemums. Mija like the honey created by the sweet love-making of the bees and pollen.

To resist or object to the calls of supposed terms of endearment is like resisting the puddle of water desecrated by the thirsty fennec fox in the midst of the Sahara. I adore those calls and swirl in with the mija and honey’s charming scent wrapping around and teasing each endorphin in my brain into awakening.

Mija, like having an actual mother who cares enough to stick around to call me --- me --- by the swaying care of mija. I hear mija not from my own mother’s slithering serpent mouth, but my lover’s mother once removed. I prance and dance in the only two syllables that reside in the word, but cease when I hear another called…mija.

Mija…

Honey…

Mija…

No.