It's snowing outside my window.
It's beautiful, crystallized white flakes falling from the sky, creating a white blanket of cold that covers our world. It brings chills to us all, but there's a magical wonder behind it all that not many ponies appreciate as some would think.
I'm staring out my window, admiring it all. This is the sign that tells me Hearth's Warming Eve is nearly upon us, upon the kingdom of Equestria.
The glass pane steams up, my breath mists the scene unfolding outside my home. The snowfall obscured, I sigh and turn around, to go back to my chair by the fireplace.
It's pretty late in the night. Most of the town would be asleep by this hour, save for the few thestrals and guards going to and fro with their duties on their minds. My mind carries no weight, no interesting thought worth investigating or talking about.
I'm just sat here in a comfy chair, close to a warm fire, in my small little study, books at my sides if I feel like having a good read.
I'm not in the mood for reading.
If I turn my head to the side, I'll see a little table. On that little table, I'll see a half-eaten meal I prepared about - one, two, two and a half hours ago? Hmm. I don't recall how long I've been looking out the window.
Well, I'll dispose of it soon. I'm ashamed to waste a meal that somepony else in the world could have wanted more than I, but that's just another burden I've to carry on my shoulders I suppose.
But it's not the wasted food that will bring about the stinging in my chest. It's the little picture frame next to the plate that will make me hurt more than the fierce growling of my unsatisfied stomach.
It's a picture of myself, smiling, with the hoof of a lovely are draped over my shoulder.
That mare. Her.
She is the one who hurts me, though she does not do so intentionally.
She doesn't even know that she hurts me at all.
The fire crackles as an ember fragment of dead wood spits out from the flames. It quickly goes out before it lands on the carpet.
But that mare.
She knows me. I know her. The fact we're in this picture together smiling makes that fact obvious.
Sadly, my feelings for her are not so much as plain to see.
A twinge of pain grips my chest, but I shrug it off, as I have many times before.
It happens every time I look at those lovely eyes of hers. Those wonderful treasured orbs looking back at me, but not really at me. That smile that graces her pretty face, she looks so happy.
My smile was a lie. A mask of an expression I wore so that she wouldn't question me on what ailed me at the time of that moment we shared together.
That moment, locked in a little silver frame. This captured moment reminds me every day, every night, of the mare I long for, the mare I adore.
The mare I fear.
Yes. I fear her as much as I adore her. My fear of her stems from my collection of self-doubts, my lack of courage enough to speak my inner thoughts to her. The common dread of rejection, the risk of gambling the friendship I have with her now. It all hinders my wanting to tell her.
Not that I could even tell her. I remember how I first ever met her, back in the days of education. My bones felt like jelly, my body trembling as I approached her that day in the hallway. A mess of incoherent babbling escaped my mouth, turning what was supposed to be a plea for a date into unintelligible nonsense.
She mistook my noise for some sort of speech impediment. She found it cute, and assume I had trouble speaking. Turned out she offered help to other ponies around the school, and she extended her hoof out to me, to aid me with my 'talking problem'.
It was wrong of me to pretend I had such a problem, despite the truth that I had no speaking disorders or problems at all. But I loved her company, I enjoyed being in her presence, so I rolled with it, as they say. It was a little humiliating to be taught how speak all over again, but it was worth the nightly lessons just to spend an hour with her.
We became friends as time went on, and even after my unnecessary speaking lessons I still struggled to tell her my desires for her. Looking back on it all now, I suppose I really did have a speech impediment. It was just restricted to interactions with her.
I reach out and pick up the picture frame and bring it closer to myself. My lips curve into a smile immediately as I stroke her still face with my hoof. Oh, how I longed to feel the softness of her cheeks rather than the touch of silver and plastic.
I have a good job as a weather-control supervisor over in Cloudsdale. I have a nice home to live in. I have a few treasured possessions I hold dear to me. I would give it all up in exchange of a single evening with her, or for so much as an ounce of courage to tell her what I struggled to say for so long. The words I've always wanted to say to you are only possible in the dreams you haunt, and in the nightmares you plague. In my dreams the words are a possibility, but in reality they are impossible.
I stare at the image intently for a while longer. It was taken last year, a week before Hearth's Warming Eve. It had been snowing that day, and it was her idea to have our picture taken. I was happy she considered me to be in it with her. More so that she gave me a copy to keep. She called me her 'best friend' when she gave it over to me. A part of my heart lit up, the other half died at that word.
Friend.
I really should be grateful to be her friend, and I am, honestly. But I refuse to be told that I cannot yearn for the chance to be something more in her eyes. To be the stallion she could love and trust. To be the stallion with whom she'd lay next to in the hillside grass counting the vast stars of Luna's night sky. To be the stallion whose chest she'd rest her sweet head upon. To be the stallion whose heart she'd listen to, beating just for her and her only, reminding her that I was there with her, and still would be as she closed her eyes to peacefully sleep the night away, knowing she was safe in the warmth of my body, my hooves, my wings, all cradling her and protecting her from whatever bogeymane lurked in the darkness.
Wetness dribbled down my muzzle. My eyes leaked loose a tear. Carefully, I put the picture back in its place, and give it a last look before I get off my chair.
I walk back over to the window. The glass of wine, accompanied by the wine bottle, reminds me that I abandoned my drink here some time ago. My eyes look out into the world outside, everything is now a white wintry wonderland.
I do not know if I ever will sate my heart's longing for the mare of my dreams, but for now I can take comfort in the picturesque scene beyond my window. I may not have my love at my side, and I do not know if I will ever have that ultimate honor, but at least I'll always have the snow which fell that day the picture was taken. As long as the snow will fall this time of the year every year, I'll have a part of her here with me.
I pour a little more wine into my glass, filling it halfway. I take it in my hoof, and raise it to my lips. But before I sample the taste of the drink, I hesitate for a moment. I smile, and instead I raise the glass higher. I raise my glass as a toast to the winter snow that returns every year, and keeps the story behind that photo alive. And I raise the glass as a toast to the mare I love, uttering a silent prayer for her health, her safety, her comfort.
I bring the glass to my lips. I am still young. So is the mare I love. We have years ahead of us still, time on our side. My side. I doubted myself before, and perhaps it is the smell of the drink affecting my thought, but something deep within me flickers like a candle in the darkness, and gives me a tiny ray of hope that maybe there will be a day. Maybe not now, maybe not for some time. But a day is more than I would ask for.
I feel another smile form on my lips. I bring the glass to them, sipping and tasting the drink. I raise my glass for a final toast to the world, and to my mare.
"Happy Hearth's Warming Eve, my beloved Mystery..."
The snow continues to fall, crystallized droplets turned into icy flakes falling from the heavens.