Hey, sweetheart.
Today, Nebula Spark said something I thought was pretty funny. He told me about the new research his dad was doing at the Canterlot Space Center
Do you remember back in the day, when
I think I
Hey, sweetheart.
Magic.
Magic fixes everything. That’s what they say.
But as you and I sure as hell know, magic can be… a really tough thing to handle. Magic breaks as much as it fixes. And, sometimes, when faced with a whole lot of terrible things, we tend to realize- huh. Magic… can’t fix this.
Funny. For how skilled and powerful I am at magic, I really never saw how much magic could hurt people. And for that, I’m so very sorry.
Today Nebula Sp (Hell, magic can’t fix my bad letter writing
Something happened today that reminded me of the past.
I was so sure, as the head Crystaller at the Crystal Empire (and overall head court mage), that I knew everything there was to know about the world. I knew how to work the basic, telemetric aspects of chronometry. I could toy with life forces and necrotics, and figure out the structure of the universe, all the way down from the atom, to the pony cell, to the Spectra that governs our souls, and to the stars.
But then I found you. Or, rather, you found me. Again. In my house, in the Crystal Empire, where - despite having this great, new position - I was still holed up, inept, afraid of a lot of things.
And then I heard you laugh for the first time in years.
And that’s when I realized. Life… has got a lot more to offer than just magic.
I knew how to make an isolated timestring, but I didn’t know how to handle the butterflies in my stomach. I knew how to manipulate the hexadronic rune systems, but whenever I saw you, I blushed. I blushed, and I couldn’t understand why.
I thought this was a problem. All of this- this was wrong. I shouldn’t have felt that way. I shouldn’t be feeling those… feelings! And things like that. Yadda, yadda, I was panicking, faced against something I had never experienced before. The most fearsome things in life are the things which we do not know we do not know. Rockhoof. I’m sure you’ve heard me recite that a couple of times already.
So, when you came by the door, asking for the old childhood friend that she saw earlier, I didn’t know what to expect. I just… went along, I guess. I wanted to learn more. I wanted to dip myself into the unknown.
And you. Your voice, your smile. The glow in your face when you look at something beautiful - like flowers, or birds… or myself, rolling on the ground post-accident. The warmth that surrounded you when you laughed. I… for a moment, I thought… I thought I could do this.
I remember that night.
I remember how you came home in tears. You thought I had forgotten your birthday - our anniversary. You thought… I was terrible. You thought I cared more about magic, and my career, and everything else, than I did about the pony I made my vows with. You thought about many things, most of which I probably deserved. I still feel a scar from that night, when we both were in tears, lying in bed, in different rooms.
Magic… might have been my life. But magic couldn’t fix this.
Today, Nebula Spark, one of the newer kids, said - rather confidently - “magic can fix everything!” during one of my classes. All the friendship tutors there laughed. I did, too. I think that’s because we knew that magic… isn’t the end-all-be-all. My career isn’t everything.
I’m so sorry that I was so distant as a husband. I’m so sorry I could not have been what you wanted me to be. I’m so sorry that I thought I could dedicate myself to “my life’s work” when, as I came to discover, my life’s work was right here. With you. With the incredibly smart unicorn who had her own aptitude for magic, and loved all her students equally, and loved to laugh, and stuck with someone as unbearable as I.
Magic couldn’t fix how terrible I was. Many other things did. Relationship counseling. Therapy. Learning to listen more, and to communicate better. Finding the little things that reminded us of the love we felt for each other - of the butterflies I felt in my stomach when I first saw you outside my door after all those years.
It’s been five years since then, and I’m glad I’m still with you. I’ve become much better as a pony than I could have ever been. I’ve learned how it feels to laugh again. I’ve learned to let go of day-and-night research, knowing that… well, I can always come back to it later. At least now I get to spend time around children, teaching them about magic and about friendship. Thank you for inviting me to teach at your school, by the way. (You’re the best headmare ever!)
Most importantly, though… I’ve learned to love you better.
If you’re reading this, then you should be by the dinner table. You won’t know it, but I’m in the basement, listening to your soft hoofsteps. When the time is right, I’ll teleport up. Your job, right now, is to keep reading. At least, until the end of the letter.
I love you. I love you so so much. You’ve been - you are - the light of my life. You will always be the light of my life. I had that in my hooves so long ago, and I screwed it up. I dropped what would have been the most precious thing I would ever have in search of some greater arcane secret. I’m glad I realized. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, in this world, with you.
It took awhile for me to figure out your reading speed, but at least that’s one place where magic won’t fail me. The aroma warding spell should wear off right around… now.
Smell that?
A lilac bouquet and hayseed burgers with a little bit of pepper and basil. Your favorites.
Happy Anniversary, Starlight.
Yours truly,
Sunburst.
