I Would Wait a Million Years

Today was Hearth’s Warming. I awoke to find a surprise waiting for me in my room, though no pony had delivered it. My window had blown open in the middle of the night, covering my room with fresh, white snow.

It took me seven hours to shovel all of it back outside, but the damage was done. Most of our room was waterlogged and damp and most of my possessions were damaged.

And, my love, your book was ruined, but these letters were untouched. I hope one day in the future, you take as great a joy in reading these and living my life as I had writing them.

I went over to your parent’s house for dinner. They were happy to receive me, though I could see that they would have loved to have you there as well. I admit, I would have loved to have you there, but I understand why you cannot. I have never complained before and I will not start now.

We set a spot for you and we ate quietly for most of the night. After dinner, we sat down in the lounge at talked about trivial matters. Halfway through, though, talk turned to you.

Your mother told me of the day you were born.

She said that when you entered this world, the doctors, the nurses, your mother and your father were all silent. Nopony knew quite what to say, so you cried to fill the silence and you kept crying until your newborn lungs could not keep up.

I always admired that of you, your ability to fill a room with your voice and never take a rest until a matter was resolved. I just never knew that you began training so young.

I left your parents just before midnight and returned home. I am writing this letter by the light of the moon as I gaze out over the snowy night. All of my candles had burned down several days ago and I keep forgetting to buy more.

There is a large snow cloud rolling in from the east and it threatens to block out the moon’s light, so I must end here and yearn for the day when we can look out over this view together.