Love.
Love is.
Love is wonderful.
Love is beautiful too.
Love is what sustains me.
Love is my beautiful wife Cadance.
Love is a great thing to have.
Love is a nice thing when you're dying.
Love is a nice thing when you're living, too.
Love is a nice thing all the time, I guess.
Love is changing my diapers every day. I'm so sorry honey.
Love is protecting me from myself, when I forget who I am.
Love is caring for a slowly dying stallion who you outgrew long ago.
Love is spoon feeding me my meals, because I'm too weak to feed myself.
Love is making me those meals, because we both know hospice food sucks. Thank you.
Love is in bloom, and I feel like a parasite upon a beautiful, blossoming pink flower.
Love is hours spent sitting next to little old me, when you have an empire to run.
Love is a mare who needs more sleep, but won't get it because she's taking care of me.
Love is telling Celestia that you'll be missing your weekly tea time for the first time in eighty-two years.
Love is ponified as a goddess among mares who happened to let me be her husband for a short while.
Love is putting up with me for nearly a century and a half. Celestia knows I can be trying.
Love is swimming beside me in the waters of death while I float on in an inner tube.
Love is seeking my advice, my council, my wisdom, when you have far more years of experience.
Love is so kind not only to myself, but all the little ponies that surround you.
Love is a many splendored thing, and I've been blessed to see its many facets.
Love is letting me co-rule, when we both know that I’m glorified leg candy.
Love is still hanging onto me long after the candy has grown rotten.
Love is loving me more every day, even as I slip away.
Love is finding new things to love about me, silly me.
Love is remembering all the good times we had together.
Love is being by my side until the end.
Love is chuckling gently with me, even now
Love is knowing you’ll always remember me.
Love is happy, being with you.
Love is with me now.
Love is eternally good.
Loves never dies.
Love lives.
Love.
.
✵✵✵
Sitting on the edge of my bed, Cadance sets the poem down and looks at me. “You wrote this?” she asks.
I nod a weak yes. She smiles, once again crying. My wife cries too easily, but I suppose nopony’s perfect. Not even me.
“Shining, this is so beautiful. What inspired it?” She strokes my fur gently, and I realize the number of times I will feel her skin on mine is rapidly dwindling.
“I’m dying, my princess,” I tell her matter-of-factly.
She gives me a sad grin. “I know that, silly filly. I’ve known that for years.”
I ponder this new information for a moment. Did she know about my condition long before I, long before the doctors knew? Was she simply too kind to tell anyone else? But then I remember that to her, everypony is dying. I’m lucky to have tacked on a few more decades on account of being her husband, but I’m still a mayfly in over his head. Perhaps this is how she can be so at peace with my impending demise.
I say none of this, instead settling for the trusty “I love you.”
She giggles, tussling my mane. “I know that too, beloved. Why do you waste your breath with such obvious words?”
“Says the mare who’s uttered ‘Good Morning, Shining’ many thousands of times,” I retort.
My wife looks up into nowhere, calculating something. “... 50,438 times to be exact.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Is that the number of days in one hundred-forty years?”
“No, about one hundred thirty-eight,” she responds. “Some of the more hectic days of our reign have not afforded me time for such pleasantries.”
She taps me with her hooves, a silent message to scoot over, and I acquiesce. She lifts the blanket with her magic, and carefully slides under it and next to me, mindful of the tubes and mana conduits slithering into me. I feel her body against mine, and a hundred years melt away in an instant.
When we first met, she was a fair maiden on the cusp of adulthood. Now, lying next to me, she is a strong mare in the prime of life. I, on the other hoof, am a shrivelled old stallion, but this doesn’t seem to bother her. I’ve bugged her about it, and indeed, if it does, she’s a good liar.
I’ve always found some of the best parts of conversation to be the silent ones, and am happy to continue to be mute, her warmth against me saying more than a thousand words. I feel another wave of tiredness poised to wash over me, and I welcome the impending nap. She makes no protest against my slumber, and my eyes close.
✵✵✵
When I awake, the room is bathed in the warm colors of the early evening, and I sleepily smile at the tranquility of the whole affair. I shift my weight, and discover a large amount of alicorn wrapped around me. “Mi Amore?” I ask quietly.
“Good morning, Shining,” my wife singsongs. “Have a nice nap?”
I grumble. “You’re not allowed to say that. It’s not morning,” I chide her.
She nips at my neck. “It’s morning somewhere. I’ll say it if I want to.”
I’m not going to fight her on that. I have more important dragons to slay, if you pardon the expression. “How long was I out?” I ask.
“About four hours,” she informs me.
“Hopefully you went and got some ruling done?”
I face away from her, but I imagine she gives me a cross look. “And leave you?”
I try to muster a complaining tone “Cadieeeee. You have a duchy that pretends it’s an empire to run!”
She squeezes me a little tighter. “Honey, my empire will still be here next week. I don’t know if you will.”
Am I really that close? I suppose I am. That’s a shame. I’m going to miss her.
“Sorry I’m dying on you,” I mumble weakly.
She nickers at me. “This again? Shining, you don’t have to apologize. Besides, it's a bit late, don't you think?
“But--”
She shushes me with a fetlock on my lips. “You think I didn’t know what I was getting into when I married you, honey?”
I retract my argument, instead retreating deeper into her warmth. Other than the whole dying thing, I could get used to this.
“Cadance?”
“Yes, Shining?”
“I love you. A lot, I mean.”
She nuzzles me. It’s nice. “I love you too Shining. Thank you for being my knight.”
“You’re sure you can hang out with me for a while?” I inquire.
“Of course. National crisis aside--no offense but those take precedence over cuddling--I will always have time for you.”
I chuckly darkly. “You’re gonna have a lot of time on your hooves, huh.”
“I suppose I will. Aren’t you just a happy little optimist.”
“Always look on the bright side of life,” I joke, and I feel my incontinence hit. I’m pretty sure she notices it too, but she doesn’t even flinch. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
…
“Cadance?”
“Yes?”
“I think I’m going to sleep some more. Could you hoof me some water first?”
She lifts a bottle to my mouth will her telekinesis, and I gulp down the liquid greedily. At least I can still swallow on my own.
“Anything else?” she asks, setting the bottle back upon the night stand.
I think for a moment. “Just keep loving me.”
“Of course,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say weakly, and I drift into the internal reflection that preceeds sleep. She makes no motion to escape spooning me.
Yes, on the one hoof, I’m dying. But on the other, I’m doing so peacefully, frequently in the embrace of an alicorn princess. This whole “til death do us part” thing is pretty swell.
I’m certainly not immortal. I’m pretty sure Cadance isn’t either. But love will live forever.
That’s nice, I guess.
