It’s Four AM, and All I Can Think of is You
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It's Four AM, and All I Can Think of is You

It’s Four AM, and All I Can Think of is You

Calloused clicking fills my ears as I walk down Clover Street, the cobbled road passing under my hooves at a lethargic pace. My steps echo and bounce off the dark, empty buildings surrounding me, lit only by the stars and moon and scattered lanterns on metal poles. It feels off in a familiar sort of way, like a quiet hotel hallway or a classroom during summer break. A space that should be lively, but isn’t, and I can’t help but take it as a reminder that I shouldn’t be here, either. Not on this street, at this hour, on this night. There’s somewhere else I should be - a soft bed wrapped in silken sheets. My head resting on down feather pillows. But I can’t. Sleep eludes me, slipping through my grasp like a cool autumn breeze.

I know why, of course, but a part of me denies it. Refuses to accept the reality laid out before me, unable to come to terms with what happened. It’s that little piece of me that has brought me here, and as I lift my head and look to the side, it dawns on me where my subconscious has brought me.

I curse that part of myself as my eyes trail over the boarded up shop, a relatively-fresh ‘for-lease’ sign hung on the door.

I must be a masochist to have come here, where it all began.

We had our first date here.

I suppose I should be surprised that it’s closed down. Even now, I can still vividly recall that night. You were hyped up on the rush of adrenalin after your first big performance as an official Wonderbolt, practically buzzing with energy and overflowing with confidence. It was cute, and I know I thought so even back then. I have no doubt that, in that moment, you felt like you could have done anything. Taking on a fully grown dragon? No problem. Finally confessing to your crush? Bring it on.

And so, you went for it.

‘Wanna grab a slice?’ you asked me.

I admit, I didn’t realize what you meant at first, and agreed without a second thought. We stopped at the first pizza place we saw. It was empty, which made it stick out amongst the crowds moving through the streets after your show, but we didn’t think much of it at the time. If anything, it only made it more attractive.

As soon as we took a bite, though, we knew why we were the only ones eating there. It was, bar none, the worst pizza I had ever eaten, and to this day it has kept its crown. The crust was both burnt and raw in the middle, somehow. Cheese like grease-soaked cardboard and a tomato sauce that I’m pretty sure was out of date by at least a couple months. We looked at each other, mouths full of this indescribably horrible flavour, and I remember the way you struggled to swallow it, face contorted with disgust but determined to get it down even as I gave up and spit it out.

And then we just… laughed. That’s what I remember clearest about that night - your laugh. Even the taste has begun to fade, but the sound of your laughter I will never forget. I suppose I should be happy the shop closed so it can’t poison anyone, but I’m also sad to see it gone. Our relationship started in that building, we bonded over that pizza. Now it’s gone, and it feels like a part of us went with it.

I wish it was still here. Maybe I could have brought you some, and heard your laugh again.

Such a silly thought; even if it was still there, there’s no way it would have been open. After all, it’s four in the morning.

All I can think of is you.

Canterlot is quiet, and empty, and big. So, so big. When I was a filly, I used to think the roads wenton forever. It felt like no matter how many time I turned a corner there would just be more. More houses and shops and ponies. More city, in every direction, drestching endlessly into the horizon. I know that’s not true, and in the grand scheme of things Canterlot isn’t even all that big, but as I continue down the street, past the place that used to have the terrible pizza, I start to wonder if it will ever end.

Somehow, it felt smaller when we were together. More manageable. Between your shows and my royal duties, we spent a lot of time here. Learned the city inside and out, even better than I knew it when I lived here. I didn’t get out much back then, so it wasn’t hard. We found all the best places to eat, where to go when we wanted to be together, alone, away from the public eye. Out of reach of the tabloids and gossip rags Rarity loved to tease us with. You found your favorite places to nap, and I know where to go to read without being desturbed.

Of course, they're all closed now. Since it’s four AM.

All I can think of is you.

I look up, searching for a distraction from the endless thoughts of you, and I’m reminded of my masochistic journey down this literal memory lane by the building at the end of the road. It looks more abandoned than the pizza place, but if the up-to-date marquee above the doors is any indication, the old theater is still running. That’s nice. While it’s true that it shows its age, it does so well. It wears its history on its sleeve, old posters from some of the earliest movies showcased like badges of honour, as though saying ‘I was here for that’ and ‘I remember this’.

We saw the first Daring Do movie in that theater. But before that we watched… something. Honestly, I don’t even remember what it was. I was far too preoccupied stressing out wondering if it was a date or not. I didn’t quite put two and two together when we ate, but when you suggested a movie after, well.

Even I wasn’t quite that dense.

The popcorn was amazing, which was a nice change of pace from the offensive pizza. And very welcome - I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I’m pretty sure you hadn’t even had that. You denied it, but your nerves before the show were on full display.

After, though, I don’t think you hesitated even once. While the movie served as a background to my inner thoughts spiraling out of control, you just sat next to me with this big, beaming smile on your face. Munching on popcorn without a care in the world. Until you looked over at me and saw me freaking out. I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.

You asked me what was wrong.

I asked if this was a date.

And you just… just turned that big, toothy, goofy grin on me.

‘Yeah’, you said. Just like that.

I remember your smile. How it seemed to light up that dark theater. How carefree and easy it was, as though you hadn’t just told me something that would have sent me into a panic attack if I were in your shoes.

‘Oh’ I said.

I wish I could see that smile of yours, the one you would flash when you didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe I should bring you some of that popcorn we both loved so much.

If only it weren’t four AM.

All I can think of is you.

I turn past the theater, my eyes lingering on its features longer than necessary. There’s a charm to its age that reminds me of Ponyville. Rustic isn’t quite the right word for it, but I get the sense it would fit right in back home.

Home…

Ponyville is going to feel different, now. There are so many memories there of us, and if tonight is any indication I’ll be reliving them quite a lot.

I don’t know how I’ll deal with that.

I think reading nights are going to be the most difficult without a wing wrapped around my shoulders.

This time the thought strikes before I see it, but I already know where I’m going next.

I’m in a park towards the edge of Canterlot, and just a little ways off the path is a large oak tree. Not quite as large as my old home in Ponyville, but large enough for a couple of ponies to lay under its shade and read together. And we did.

So many books, on so many spring and summer days. When the weather was warm and clear and you and I needed a break from the world, we’d be here. But the first time is the one I remember most. It was almost sunset when we left the theater. By then I’d gotten my hyperventilating under control, but you could tell I was still panicking. You lead us through to this park to get me some fresh air.

We settled in under the tree, and you wrapped your wing around me as though it would help. It only made my spiraling thoughts worse, but I’ve never told you that. How could I? You were so sweet and patient with me.

Eventually I calmed down enough to speak, but before I could you leaned over and whispered in my ear.

‘Will you be my girlfriend?’

Your voice was so calm, and it pierced my swirling thoughts like a flare in the fog. I’m pretty sure I fell for you right there. I can’t describe why or how, but your voice, soft and kind and overflowing with a confidence that seemed to dare me to turn you down, awoke something in me. As though feelings I’d always had dormant within me were suddenly awoken by your call and surged to the surface.

I don’t even know what I said, or how I said it, but I remember the sound of your cheering. Your victorious cry ringing out across the park.

From that moment on, we were together.

And I have never regretted a single moment of it.

I’d like to hear your voice like that again.

Even though it’s four AM, all I can think of is you.

Your laugh, your smile, your voice. The way your eyes would have shone under the moonlight on a night like this, if only you were here with me.

But you aren’t.

Our tree passes by, and my heart sinks. I know what’s coming next, and this time it won’t be a happy memory.

In the center of the park is a statue of a proud pegasus in flight. A plaque bearing your name is set into the base. You were so proud of it when they first unveiled it. Practically bouncing off the walls for a week after you saw it for the first time.

‘That’s me!’ You would say, puffing out your chest. ‘Look how cool I am!’

Scattered around the base are bundles of flowers and pictures and cards.

Your real grave is back home in Ponyville, but this statue serves as a place of mourning here in canterlot.

It’s been a week since your funeral, and I don’t think I’ve slept a moment since then.

“I love you, Rainbow Dash.”

Your statue doesn’t respond, and as my tears drip down my cheeks, I’m forced to remember that you’re gone. I miss you so much it hurts.

It doesn’t matter if it’s morning, noon, night, or even four in the morning.

All I can ever think of is you.

Author's Note

Sometimes you need to write somethin melancholic to get out the Bad VibesTM. Have a thing I whipped up in a few hours. Oh, and if you're like me and just want your ponies to be happy, the alternate ending is rushed and unpolished, but is much happier.