“I love you.”
Those three little words. Three little words that had so much power, able to change the world of one completely, if said at the right place, time and to the right pony. The three words that by themselves expressed so much. Affection. Admiration. Need.
Love was a very strong thing. Unpredictable, unstoppable thing. It lasted for a lifetime, a strong bond between two beings of different or same gender, race or age. Nothing could stand in its way.
Some describe the feeling of love as if flying in the skies, like angels, free as birds. Mightier, better, stronger feeling than any pegasus could ever get by himself.
Some describe it as a fluttering sensation in their stomach, like butterflies, a tickling thing. In most novels, it was like that.
There was a variety of feelings when experiencing love. But not everypony did have such luck to have their own special somepony.
Ponies often thought of another, entirely different thing as love too. Crushes. Cheap and short-lasting. Those were not true love by any means. They were a state of mind, looking at somepony with affection, wanting to be together forever. The main factor here was the ‘look’ part.
In crushes, one did not know much about the other. His look was appealing, his voice smooth. We could go on forever. Majority of those things were bound to appearance. But the character, the one thing really forming a pony, was hidden to the one with a crush.
When a relationship was formed from a crush, it often ended as suddenly as it began. They say two months it lasts and then, bang. Nothing. No feelings. No love. Just a dead crush.
It was not only a crush she was feeling. It was much stronger. She was feeling those things towards him for years already. For years, she hid those, not letting them leak out of her, show up. She closed them inside of her.
The two were friends. He was one of the best she could have. When she needed, he could talk, leading the conversation. When she needed, he would cheer her up, talk to her with that soft voice of his.
When she needed, he would be silent and listen to her spilling her heart out, talking about her problems, the things that bothered her. She could tell him nearly everything. Only the three words she could not get out, let him hear them.
“I love you.”
He was a strong stallion, with a light coat, shiny and clean fur. His mane was always without a piece of straw, brushed daily. He looked absolutely amazing.
He walked straight. He was not one of those types that would have their backs shrugged just of sitting on a chair all the time, every day, every second. No.
His hobby was gardening, like hers was, taking care of flowers and plants of any kinds. A strange coincidence, she often thought.
He had his own small garden, the one he loved, right behind his house. She did see it only a few times, but she remembered how nice it looked. All the flowers were creating a feeling of peace.
His garden was a resting place. Everything there was so peaceful, nothing in rush. Everything could wait. Everything was calm.
And roses. God, how beautiful his roses were. White, yellow, red, of each kind, petals not pale, but freshly coloured. They looked gorgeous. Her own roses surely did not look that awesome, and it was her cutie mark, her talent.
She did not even know if he had his own special somepony. She had never asked him. She was way too shy and embarrased to talk about that.
She did not even know if he was into mares. It was common for it to be the other way. He did not tell her, and she did not ask.
He was from Ponyville, she knew that. He was a gardener. He had a sister pegasus. That was all. That was all she knew about him.
All the time she spent with him, and she did not know anything about him. Most of the time, she was the one talking. He knew everything about her. Well, nearly everything.
She did not let him talk. That had to make her look like a jerk.
She was not a good mare for him. He was awesome, good at keeping conversations and even better than her in her talent. He was without a flaw. He was way better than her.
She, on the opposite side, was a mess. She had a lot of problems, internal and external, and did not know how to solve them.
She and her parents were not friends. A long time ago, after some awful arguments, most of the time over nothing important, she moved to Ponyville. But she still liked them, and would do anything to have a chance, return to them, apologize and let it all be fine again.
It was all her fault. If she would think once in a while, everything could be okay. But no, she had to be rude, do whatever did she want, be egoistic, and even insult her own parents.
If that would be the only thing she messed up.
Nothing could ever be okay.
Roseluck was a bad pony. She did not deserve to have her own special somepony.
There were not much friends she had except for him. Most of the time she was gardening, alone, with no one nearby. The rest of the time, she was daydreaming. About him, what things could she do if she could be able to speak, to tell him the words.
She was dreaming about their relationship, about their love. About a life they would share.
They would live in one house, with a large garden right next to it, sharing hobbies, gardening, caring about plants and flowers. They would love each other endlessly, and they would have foals together.They would share a bed and every night they would lie down next to each other in tight embrace.
But that was not going to happen. She was not worth his love.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was one great mess, the same as her life was. Her eyes were bloodshot, showing to the world how short her daily sleep was. The area around her muzzle was covered in a thin layer of saliva.
Her mane was tangled, a crow’s nest some would say it was, full of hay and straw. She did not remember how did that happen, though. It looked absolutely terrible, like if some dwarf was playing with her mane in the night.
Her coat was pale, dirty and not groomed in days. There were numerous sore spots, the places where she kept tearing out her fur of nervosity. She was doing that for a long time already. She was nervous all the time.
She was a mess, from inside out, to others and to herself. She did not deserve to be loved.
Maybe she was bound to live the rest of her life in solitude, alone. Maybe it was supposed to be this way. Maybe she should not train saying those three words out loud.
Maybe she should not stand in front of the mirror, trying to be courageous when she knew she would never say those words. Maybe it had really no sense.
Maybe she should really forget about him.
Never tell him the three little words.
“I love you.”
