Another year has passed, and another Christmas Eve has flitted by. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the holiday, but it always ended the same way. After having spent some time with your family, and wishing all of your friends a safe and happy holiday, you curl up for the night in your solitary bed. For all intents and purposes, the night before Christmas wasn’t that much different from any other day of the year; but as you’ve grown older, the occasion has lost its luster. Gone are the days of waking up to scamper downstairs to open presents and family breakfasts. Now, though the congeniality is still there, the magic has slowly dimmed. It wasn’t like you hated the holiday season, but it served as a reminder that you were growing up and moving further and further from your youth. As the years have passed, and the increasing weight of reality and adult life has settled upon you, you reminisce on the erstwhile captivation that Christmas once held. ‘It’s just how things are,’ you say, resignedly, slipping beneath the blankets and resting your head on the pillow.
The warmth of your bed quickly overtakes you, lulling you into a restful slumber. Even though tomorrow will more than likely be somewhat hectic, filled with family and punctuated by a hearty meal, you look forward to the event. In the darkness of your room, comfortable beneath your blankets, you drift off to sleep for the night. Curiously, you’re keenly aware of your dreams- a rare event, but not an unpleasant one.
Now, you’ve been a fan of My Little Pony for quite some time, and it holds a special place in your heart. Sure, you may have stumbled across it a few years back, but something about the show and the cheerful pastel equines just resonated with you. Maybe it was because their world was so vibrant, or how the heroes managed to stick together through thick and thin; either way, the colorful cast and their adventures helped you through some rough times. It wasn’t like you ever expected a cartoon show to affect you in such a way, it all just sort of happened. Nevertheless, you’d grown attached to the little ponies and they always brought a smile to your face.
There was one pony who captivated you almost from the start. Damned if you could explain why, but something about her just drew you in. Maybe it was her attitude, the way her voice sounded, or just how she carried herself. Regardless of exactly what drew you to her, she’d become the object of your affection, and you always loved the episodes with her the best. You know it was stupid, being attracted to a cartoon horse, but you didn’t care. As silly as it may seem, she brought a bit of joy to your life, and you’re thankful for it.
A sudden, slow movement behind you causes you to stir. Your mind, dredging itself from the depths of the dream world, is dimly aware of something beside yourself in bed. As the various portions of your brain begin to tick on, a soft, slightly floral scent fills the air, almost like a field of wildflowers on a spring morning. As you go to turn, your back facing whoever or whatever is in your bed, the weight of a limb wrapping around your torso freezes in you in place.
“Don’t leave yet…” she drowsily coos. “Just a few more minutes, please…”
As impossible as it may seem, there’s no mistaking it; it’s her. She pulls you close, hugging your back to her chest and rubbing her muzzle to your neck. The warmth of her fur against your skin is divine, more comforting than you could ever imagine. As she adjusts slightly, her mane drifts over your face, tickling your nose. Your heart nearly stops in your chest and your throat constricts. There’s no way any of this could be real, no possible way that existence would grant you this boon; yet here you are, in bed with a creature that should not exist.
You dare not open your eyes; not out of fear, but because you don’t want to lose the fantastic possibility that it is she beside you. Her body heat resting against you, her delicate scent, her lilting voice, they all scream that she’s there. The steady rise and fall of her breathing is the most comforting thing of all. It’s funny, that such an insignificant thing would would be so soothing, but it simply is. No matter how much you try to explain everything away, you can not. She’s there, as real as anything ever was, yet you can’t bring yourself to look upon her beauty, much like Psyche did not dare to look up the face of her lover, Eros.
Steadily, the light of dawn filters through your window, taunting you with the impending day. You’re not sure how long the two of you have laid there, bodies pressed to one another, but it felt like an eternity. There’s only one thing left to do. Steeling your resolve, you take a shaky breath. Opening your eyes, you turn to face your paramour, only to find the empty mattress beside yourself. Desperately, you scan the area, pleading to the heavens that it wasn’t all some cruel joke. Just as fires of hope begin to fade within you, a hot breath caresses your ear.
“Happy Heath's Warming,” she murmurs, as if from nowhere and everywhere all at once. A final reminder that she was, and to a degree still is, with you.
Wheeling around, you find nothing but your room. Slamming your fist into your bed, you are adrift in a maelstrom of emotions. With every fiber of your being, you know it couldn’t have been some illusion. Everything, every possible sensation was as tangible as possible, so why wasn’t there? Sluggishly, you swing your legs from atop the mattress, easing your feet to the floor. Getting up, you realize everything is as it’s always been. You’re still alone, still in your room on Christmas morning, and your family is likely waiting to see you.
As you cast one last, longing gaze back to your bed, something flickers from deep within yourself. Maybe it was a dream, some infernally taunting experience of what could never be, but it fills you with hope. The notion that something so profoundly moving could happen once means it could happen again. Hope, such a simple and fleeting thing, is all anyone really has. It is our constant companion in our darkest hour and something which can push any of us to endure through insurmountable odds.
Gathering up your clothes, you prepare yourself for the day. If nothing else, you’ll get a hearty meal and maybe a gift or two, if you’re lucky. Still, you’re left with something to cherish, and it gives you strength to carry on. Deep down, you know you’ll see her again, and the thought helps you put one foot in front of the other, as you walk out of your room to greet the day...
Another year has passed, and another Christmas Eve has flitted by. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the holiday, but it always ended the same way. After having spent some time with your family, and wishing all of your friends a safe and happy holiday, you curl up for the night in your solitary bed. For all intents and purposes, the night before Christmas wasn’t that much different from any other day of the year; but as you’ve grown older, the occasion has lost its luster. Gone are the days of waking up to scamper downstairs to open presents and family breakfasts. Now, though the congeniality is still there, the magic has slowly dimmed. It wasn’t like you hated the holiday season, but it served as a reminder that you were growing up and moving further and further from your youth. As the years have passed, and the increasing weight of reality and adult life has settled upon you, you reminisce on the erstwhile captivation that Christmas once held. ‘It’s just how things are,’ you say, resignedly, slipping beneath the blankets and resting your head on the pillow.
The warmth of your bed quickly overtakes you, lulling you into a restful slumber. Even though tomorrow will more than likely be somewhat hectic, filled with family and punctuated by a hearty meal, you look forward to the event. In the darkness of your room, comfortable beneath your blankets, you drift off to sleep for the night. Curiously, you’re keenly aware of your dreams- a rare event, but not an unpleasant one.
Now, you’ve been a fan of My Little Pony for quite some time, and it holds a special place in your heart. Sure, you may have stumbled across it a few years back, but something about the show and the cheerful pastel equines just resonated with you. Maybe it was because their world was so vibrant, or how the heroes managed to stick together through thick and thin; either way, the colorful cast and their adventures helped you through some rough times. It wasn’t like you ever expected a cartoon show to affect you in such a way, it all just sort of happened. Nevertheless, you’d grown attached to the little ponies and they always brought a smile to your face.
There was one pony who captivated you almost from the start. Damned if you could explain why, but something about him just drew you in. Maybe it was his attitude, the way his voice sounded, or just how he carried himself. Regardless of exactly what drew you to him, he’d become the object of your affection, and you always loved the episodes with him the best. You know it was stupid, being attracted to a cartoon horse, but you didn’t care. As silly as it may seem, he brought a bit of joy to your life, and you’re thankful for it.
A sudden, slow movement behind you causes you to stir. Your mind, dredging itself from the depths of the dream world, is dimly aware of something beside yourself in bed. As the various portions of your brain begin to tick on, a soft, slightly floral scent fills the air, almost like a dew covered glade on a spring morning. As you go to turn, your back facing whoever or whatever is in your bed, the weight of a limb wrapping around your torso freezes in you in place.
“Don’t leave yet…” he drowsily mumbles. “Just a few more minutes, please…”
As impossible as it may seem, there’s no mistaking it; it’s him. He pulls you close, hugging your back to his chest and rubbing his muzzle to your neck. The warmth of his fur against your skin is divine, more comforting than you could ever imagine. As he adjusts slightly, his mane drifts over your face, tickling your nose. Your heart nearly stops in your chest and your throat constricts. There’s no way any of this could be real, no possible way that existence would grant you this boon; yet here you are, in bed with a creature that should not exist.
You dare not open your eyes; not out of fear, but because you don’t want to lose the fantastic possibility that it is he beside you. His body heat resting against you, his delicate scent, his lilting voice, they all scream that he’s there. The steady rise and fall of his breathing is the most comforting thing of all. It’s funny, that such an insignificant thing would would be so soothing, but it simply is. No matter how much you try to explain everything away, you can not. He’s there, as real as anything ever was, yet you can’t bring yourself to look upon his beauty, much like Psyche did not dare to look up the face of his lover, Eros.
Steadily, the light of dawn filters through your window, taunting you with the impending day. You’re not sure how long the two of you have laid there, bodies pressed to one another, but it felt like an eternity. There’s only one thing left to do. Steeling your resolve, you take a shaky breath. Opening your eyes, you turn to face your paramour, only to find the empty mattress beside yourself. Desperately, you scan the area, pleading to the heavens that it wasn’t all some cruel joke. Just as fires of hope begin to fade within you, a hot breath caresses your ear.
“Happy Heath's Warming,” he murmurs, as if from nowhere and everywhere all at once. A final reminder that he was, and to a degree still is, with you.
Wheeling around, you find nothing but your room. Slamming your fist into your bed, you are adrift in a maelstrom of emotions. With every fiber of your being, you know it couldn’t have been some illusion. Everything, every possible sensation was as tangible as possible, so why wasn’t there? Sluggishly, you swing your legs from atop the mattress, easing your feet to the floor. Getting up, you realize everything is as it’s always been. You’re still alone, still in your room on Christmas morning, and your family is likely waiting to see you.
As you cast one last, longing gaze back to your bed, something flickers from deep within yourself. Maybe it was a dream, some infernally taunting experience of what could never be, but it fills you with hope. The notion that something so profoundly moving could happen once means it could happen again. Hope, such a simple and fleeting thing, is all anyone really has. It is our constant companion in our darkest hour and something which can push any of us to endure through insurmountable odds.
Gathering up your clothes, you prepare yourself for the day. If nothing else, you’ll get a hearty meal and maybe a gift or two, if you’re lucky. Still, you’re left with something to cherish, and it gives you strength to carry on. Deep down, you know you’ll see him again, and the thought helps you put one foot in front of the other, as you walk out of your room to greet the day...
