“Maybe not every story gets to be told, everypony gets to live their lives not knowing about anypony else’s dreams or wishes. But how could they be expected to? With such little time to be here and so many lives to come in contact with- There’s no way anypony could know every mare, and stallion. So, continuing with this knowledge, it’s just something that must be accepted.”
Hooves shuffled on the tile floor, conversations and smiles being exchanged. It was the end of class. Books in bags, under wings, hovering next to some ponies. One pony lingered in the class, while all her other classmates were out of the room. Her fur was a pale pink, just enough to show it wasn’t white. Though her muzzle and edges of her hooves were a darker tint of the pink. Brown small curls littered her head, clipped to the right in the front with a blue pin. A small blue heart on the edge on the pin. Glasses sitting on her pink muzzle. She pushed them up softly while she waited by her teachers desk. Blue eyes looking all around at the cluttered paper on the desk before her. The blue almost the shade of the pendent in her mane. Her mother had picked it out specifically for that reason.
“It’s as wonderful as the sky itself!” She had exclaimed, “But not anymore beautiful than your eyes.” Her mother was always saying things of this manner. Everything to her was amazing, spectacular, or magical. Now this, wonderful, sky pendent was hers. And she never really took it off.
“Bloom?” The sound of her teacher finally pulled her out of the daydream. She must have said her name a few times before actually getting the pink mares attention. “Oh,” Bloom stammered, getting a grip on her surroundings. “Was there something you need, Hun?” The teacher asked bloom, who was once again moving her glasses back up her muzzle. Mrs. Inkwell was her favorite teacher, though Bloom’s cutie mark had nothing to do with writing, this was her favorite class.
Bloom once again shook her head, smiling softly to her teacher who was giving her a worried look.
“Mrs. Inkwell-” The small mare said meekly, Her sky blue eyes shifting from the papers to her teachers soft green ones. “I wanted to ask about poetry-” She stammered again. Sort of tugging at her lip as she spoke. Speaking to people directly was never something that came easily to her. In fact, Bloom avoided confronting anyone unless she really, honestly, had to. It was clear her teacher was aware of this information as well. Her concerned look fading at her students words; when realizing it was nothing serious.
“Oh, well why didn't you say so.” Inkwell said with a small grin, “I suppose we haven’t gone over that in class yet. Do you have a specific question for it, Hun?” Hun. Bloom wasn't sure why but something about the way she called her that made her feel more at ease; Like she was around family. Inkwell spoke like cream slowly melting into coffee, or like how campfire smoke filled the air. Really soft and warm, or all at once in a quick motion of thick words.
“I just.. I know there are many forms of writing poetry itself, but I'm sure I fully understand how someone just comes up with the words.” Bloom tried to explain, she felt as though her own words were more like trying to eat a caramel apple. Sticky and hard to grasp completely; But it seemed like Inkwell always understood what she was trying to say. Just one of the many reasons she was Bloom’s favorite teacher.
“With creativity of course!” The teacher exclaimed. Bloom knew she'd answer with something like that.
“Well yes but-” Bloom started.
“Yes, I know you know that already. But Hun, poetry can be anything you want it to. It doesn't always have to rhyme and can be about anything your little heart desires. Even some of the best poems can contain only six words.” Inkwell explained. Now walking as she spoke. Her hooves making the most gentle sound as they hit the tile floor. Mrs. Inkwell was the most beautiful shade of blue and white. Her green eyes popping out from her image, Bloom loved how they did that. Bloom nodded to what she'd been told about poetry. Still confused, but with a bit of a better grip on the subject than a few minutes ago. “Though I'm curious, why the sudden interest in poems?” Inkwell asked, books hovering in a green glow as they made their way into certain spots on a shelf.
Bloom looked away bashfully, even blushing a bit.
“No reason, I was just asking.” The teacher gave her a look that said something along the lines of, ‘I know there is more, but I will not ask.’
“Have a good day, Mrs. Inkwell.” Bloom said as she scuttled out of the room, her brown curls bouncing as she did so.
“You too, hun.” She called out to the mare rushing down the hall.
“A poem can be anything you want it to be…” Bloom repeated to herself, she sat alone at a lunch table. A small container of hay, and an apple sat to her left as she stared at a blank sheet of paper in front of her. It was a sort of beige color too, not pure white. Sort of like those weird eggs that chickens sometimes laid. Bloom continued to look intently at the paper; as if to hope the words would just sprawl out in front of her. Sadly, no such luck. Why couldn't she have a writing talent instead. It’s not that she didn't enjoy her talent now, but she so desperately needed to make this not be horrible. And not only horrible but not something to laugh at, or take as a ‘oh, that’s nice.’
A wonderful, lovely, poem. Thats all she needed- and still, that paper sat there blank. She groaned softly, taking a bite of the hay that her dad didn't exactly put in the container neatly. But she didn't exactly mind. Her chewing slowly began to become less and less of a chew, and more of a jaw movement. Swallowing quickling Bloom looked at the paper, but grabbing the pencil in her mouth before letting the lead hit the paper. Cautiously, and neatly- letters started to be written, and then words. Bloom let go of the pencil before looking once more at the now written on paper. Her blue eyes going left to right, double checking everything. A wide smile formed on her lips. It wasn't awful, she was sure someone could have done a lot better, but for her- it was good.
Soon the paper was in her backpack as she quickly finished her lunch before making her way to her next two classes. Bloom was anxious, and it was really clear. Tapping her hooves, biting her lip, looking at her bag that contained her poem in it. She couldn't focus on the Wonderboltz, or whatever it was the teacher was talking about. In fact, she wasn't even sure they were speaking words at this point. When the teacher finally dismissed them from class Bloom hurried out the door, which was unlike her usual slow walk after being the last one out. She ducked and weaved through all the other ponies before slowing down a bit when making it outside. Snow covered the ground, the trees, just about anything. The small crystal like flakes falling down from the sky; like the most gentle pegasi. Pulling a white scarf from her bag with her mouth, moving her head in the way ponies do to get it around her neck. Neatly tucked and all. Bloom shivered a bit before continuing on her way.
Large, tall buildings crowded her, the sidewalk having more of a slush to it then snow. Same went for the road, were taxis were rushing others to where they needed to go. Bloom always walked, even in the winter. Her breath fogged a bit of the air as she walked. She was still clearly headed in a very specific direction, her glance was straight ahead as she kept going. Her hooves now wet from the road, she tried to ignore that she was actually a little cold. Thats when she stopped in front of a building. It looked old and run down. Most of the bricks cracked, or missing. Dead vines reached all along the walls, leaks also littered the sides. Although she was so determined only a minute ago, it was now Bloom was frozen. Her hooves were stuck in place as she stared at the doors- which she knew was unlocked. The fog of her breath continued to collect around her muzzle as she breathed. All she could think about was how nervous she was. The small pink mare was now wanting to run home; but she'd been so excited to do this, for weeks she'd thought about this very moment and how wonderful it was going to be.
Taking in a very large breath she went into the building. Not exactly releasing that breath until she was decently into the shamble you could hardly call a home. It was full of trash and even drawn on- Bloom had never actually been in here.. She took a moment to take it all in. It was dirtier than she was able to imagine. Clutter filled the corners, dirt covered- no, there wasn't even really a ground other than the dirt itself. Dust thickly covered the air, but it was warmer in here. The frail mare looked around a bit more. A kitchen with a few plates but no real appliances, a couple of cans and a bit of fruit. So she was right. Bloom smiled very wide. Quickly galloping up the stairs, trying to be quiet but she was just so excited. After around four floors- she was here. This room was much cleaner than all the others. There were pictures on the wall, most seemingly torn out of magazines or newspapers. A mass of blankets, which Bloom assumed was a bed. A working fireplace- which currently had fire in it, with spare wood to the side. A couple of other possessions were on the floor and on a table by the couch. Bloom noticed a stair ladder by the window, slowly crawling up it- she was outside again. The cold air welcoming her back, harsher than before. Seeing that she was higher up now. Then, she noticed a lion like tail dangling from a cloud not to far away from her, but not enough to really tap or get the attention of. Actually, thinking about it- There was no way Bloom couldn't just confront somepony like this…
So there she stood outside staring up at the puffy white cloud, which nearly blended it with the rest of the sky. Her hooves shuffled a bit, her pink nose burning a bit in the cold. Bloom snuggled it into her scarf, desperately trying to be quiet and not let the griffon realize she was there.
But that was the entire point she was there! Bloom squeezed her eyes shut really tight and thought hard. She wasn't as ready as she'd first thought to confront this whole situation… But she'd come all this way, she had to at least leave what she'd written.
Slowly opening her eyes, bloom once more stared up at the dull sky. The smallest of gasps slipping past her muzzle. Quietly, Bloom pulled out the paper from her bag. Gently, with both her snout and hooves- She created a nearly flawless paper airplane. The egg shell color just barely different that the plain white sky. She carefully backed up, her hooves making hollow noises on the wood as she did so. When a small gust of wind rushed past her, Bloom let the small piece of paper slip away from her hoof and bit her lip watching it fly away. She had no spare copies, and was very sure if it were to go too far she would likely not go after it.
She nearly jumped in joy watching the tip of the plane wedge itself between the cloud and griffon. It didn't take long for her to scamper on out of the run down building. People watched as the pink mare ran, beaming a wide smile as she went back to her own small home.
I see you sometimes
When you fly by, and smell the flowers
Your feathers ruffle when you see one you really like
I’d love to say hello
But just as the flowers close up at night-
I cannot bring myself to approach you
-Your admirer
