Octavia.
One of the most-known names in
Canterlot City.
Known by many, loved
By more still. Yet, I do not
love all those who do.
My heart is lonely,
My bed lies cold and unfilled,
And my soul aches.
There is another
Name that Canterlot chants.
It's DJ Pon-3.
I've never met her,
Only heard the shouts and cries
Of the late parties.
"Hey, DJ Pon-3
Is doing another show!"
A passerby says,
Their shirt showing her
Face and her stage name on the
Sleeve, bright blues all over.
I do not care for her
'Music', a term that I use
Very, very, very loosely.
***
Perhaps the one
Thing I dislike more than her
Noise are the
Snobby, spoiled,
Uptight, poor excuses of
People that I
Am often forced
To interact with day in
And day out, seven
Days a week, twenty-
Four hours a day. It often
Makes me question
Why I do not drink
Myself blind every night,
Like my father did.
Perhaps tonight I
Will finally change that; I
Believe that I shall.
***
Of all the people,
All the possibilities
That could have happened,
She takes the empty
Stool next to me at the bar.
Why was it her? Why?
"Hey, what's up, dude?!" She
Asks, her voice loud and her words
Tripping out her mouth.
She throws her arm
Around me. I cringe and slink
Out from under her.
I do not feel like
Being bothered by her and
People like her.
I only want to
Drink until the sun climbs
Back over the
Horizon. But, of
Course, she just wants to talk.
Talk and talk and talk.
I put on my best
Plastic smile and turn to
Her, "I don't want to
"Sound rude, but could
you please just leave me alone?"
Celestia, be
Kind this one time.
She looks at me with a
Surprising look of
Sobriety, and
Even behind her glasses,
I can tell she wants
To know why I asked
Her to leave me alone while
I drink my problems
Away like a bad
Memory. She lowers her
Glasses and then I
See her eyes. Never
Had I seen anything like
Those orbs of pure
Crimson, so deep and
Mesmerizing that she had
To wave her hand at
My face to get my
Attention back. "Hey. Why don't you
Talk to someone?" She
Asks, smiling a
Smile that makes me catch
My breath in my throat.
Everything she
Does or says is simply
Beautiful to
Me. For some reason, I
Decide that maybe I should
Judge a book by
Its cover and talk
To this DJ Pon-3.
It could be the booze
Already in me
That opens my mouth and makes
Words flow from it and
Tears streak down my
Face, or the years and years of
Loneliness that cause
Me to open up.
Be it one or the other,
I could care less.
Once she hears my sad
Tale, she is determined to,
"Help me have the best
"Night I have ever had!"
Little did she know that by
Meeting her, I
Already had.
