“Hey, Twi?”
“Yes, Sunset?”
“Question…”
“Answer.”
“You’re a funny gal. Comedy legend.”
“I try my best. What’s up?”
“So, there’s this meme going around online, and I gotta ask you — I warn you in advance, it’s really dumb — would you still love me if I were a worm?”
“A worm or a wormgirl?”
“What’s a ‘wormgirl?’”
“A girl mixed with a worm, I’d assume. A more oligochaeta form of the common catgirl, if you will.”
“Or a ponygirl, if we want to stick closer to home?”
“I suppose — although catgirls usually keep their tails, while the closest we have is long tail-like hair, so the comparison is debatable.”
“And exactly who’s debating it?”
“Me. And my research notebook.”
“Right. And what features define a wormgirl? Permanently wet skin? Lack of bones? She’d live in wet dirt, and love the rain…”
“I’d hope that we could cut her legs off and watch them regrow a few days later.”
“Is that what you’re looking for in a woman?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. I mean, it might for the wormgirl, depending on how complex her nervous system is. But not for me.”
“I’ll try and work on that this weekend. But let’s get back to the original question.”
“Based on the description we’ve come up with, yes, I would still love you if you were a wormgirl.”
“Good to know. And what if I were just a worm?”
“Just a worm. So, no human characteristics at all?”
“Exactly. Straight up earthworm.”
“And were you turned into a worm? Or have you been one since birth?”
“Turned into one. Got hit with an ancient curse or something.”
“Hm. Well, in that case: No, I probably wouldn’t.”
“Oh. Uh. Okay.”
“Any other worm-based hypotheticals you’d like to serve me?”
“No, no. Just that one. Thanks, babe.”
“No problem, love.”
“…Could I ask why, though?”
“Why, what? Why wouldn't I love you as a worm?”
“Yeah.”
“Because you’d be a worm. No limbs, no complex thoughts, no true emotions. You’d spend most of your time burrowing, or eating compost. There’s not much there to love. And as fascinating as they are, I can’t say I find earthworms particularly attractive.”
“Sure, but, like — it’d still be me.”
“In name only, if that.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Not really. I can give the name Sunset to any worm.”
“So, like, if I got turned into a worm, you’d just stop loving me?”
“I guess it depends on your definition. I’m sure I’d do everything I could to undo the curse and return you to your human form. That’s a sort of love.”
“But if everything you did failed, and I stayed a worm forever…?”
“I’d keep you alive for as long as I could, and I’d give you the best life an earthworm can have. Moist soil, decomposing vegetables, and animal droppings as far as your photoreceptors could see. But I wouldn’t love you the way I do now, romantically, passionately. And you definitely wouldn’t love me.”
“I’d still love you if you were a worm.”
“That’s not what I mean — I’m saying that if you were a worm, you wouldn’t be able to love me. But with that in mind, I don’t think you’d love me if I turned into a worm either.”
“Of course I would.”
“How? I wouldn’t look or act the same. Aside from the name, every bit of me would be gone. You’d be loving someone that doesn’t exist anymore.”
“I’d still have my memories of you. You’d still exist to me.”
“Are two years of memories enough to sustain you for the rest of your life? Assuming they don’t fade over time.”
“You think I’d forget you?”
“I’m sure you’d remember that I existed, and that we dated. But specific memories? That’s much harder. Take your parents, for example: You haven’t seen them since you were a child, right? How much do you remember of them?”
“That’s a low blow.”
“It’s an example. I’m not trying to offend you.”
“I wouldn’t forget about you. I won’t ever.”
“Alright.”
“And what about you? Are you planning on forgetting about me?”
“I’m not ‘planning’ it, obviously. If it were up to me, I’d retain every memory I have of you in perfect quality until the day I die. Every moment, every word. But I’m only human. My mind isn’t a camera. Even with modern medical advancements, we can only—”
“I get it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Sunset, are you actually angry at me?”
“I’m not angry.”
“You’re frowning like you’re angry. Scowling, even.”
“Yeah, well— What if I died tomorrow? You’d stop loving me then, too?”
“What? That’s not a fair question.”
“How? It’s basically the same situation. I’d be gone. Hell, I’d be even more gone than if I turned into a worm.”
“It’s still mean. What am I supposed to say to a question like that? What do you want me to say?”
“I just want an honest answer.”
“Okay.”
“Well?”
“I… Okay. Listen, Sunset—”
“Oh my god. You’re about to say you’d stop loving me, aren’t you?”
“You’d be dead! I’d still have love for you, of course. But I couldn’t be in love with you. Why is that so wrong? Do you expect me to just be alone for the rest of my life?”
“I never said that.”
“It’s implied.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“After how you just interrupted me? I wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, ha, ha. And what about—”
“What about you? I always thought you loved me for being me. ‘Oh, babe, you’re so cute! I love playing games with you! You’re so smart!’ But right now, it seems like you’re more in love with the concept of me than anything.”
“That’s the most pseudo-deep bullshit I’ve ever heard.”
“Excuse me?”
“The ‘concept’ of you? Really?”
“I’m saying— Ugh, never mind. You always do this.”
“What? Do what?”
“I said never mind.”
“I’m not doing anything. What am I doing?”
“You’re getting mad over something stupid.”
“It’s—”
“It is stupid, and you know that. We were having a perfectly nice afternoon and now we’re fighting.”
“We’re not fighting!”
“Then why are you yelling? You’re freaking me out.”
“I’m not yelling. And you know that you do this all the time too, right?”
“I don’t get upset over things like this.”
“No, but you’re always, like— You know!”
“I don’t!”
“I ask you a question about whether you’d love me and you just say no without even hesitating.”
“When have I ever done that before?”
“No, no, what I’m saying is, how do you think that makes me feel? Could you try thinking about how I might feel before you say something?”
“I’m not going to lie.”
“I’m not saying that! But do you have to be so, like, blunt?”
“It didn’t seem blunt to me. I explained myself and tried to reassure you that I love you as you are.”
“Okay, fine, but this isn’t the first time, y’know?”
“Explain?”
“I dunno, like— Do you remember that song I wrote for you? For your birthday?”
“I do. I really liked it.”
“Did you? That’s not what you told me. I played it for you, and after I finished, all you said was that I should lower the chorus’ key because it’s out of my range.”
“I remember saying that, yeah. I did like it, though. A lot.”
“Fine, maybe you did, but I was pouring my heart out to you — it was literally a song about how you’re the only one who I feel totally comfortable around — and all you did was criticize me! It made me feel like shit!”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“It was your birthday!”
“I would have understood.”
“You’re not understanding too well right now.”
“This is different.”
“I feel the same.”
“But— Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Is that why you didn’t stay over? On my birthday, I mean.”
“I dunno. Maybe, I guess. It didn’t help.”
“Sunset. I’m sorry.”
“Whatever. You’re right, it’s stupid, I don’t care.”
“I care about it. I care about you, too.”
“I know. And I care about you. A lot.”
“You know I get stuck in my own head sometimes. I have a hard time reading people. Guessing how they feel, and things like that. You remember, last week with Applejack’s painting—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You just gave an honest opinion. That’s, like, her whole schtick.”
“But she was hurt, and I didn’t know until Fluttershy told me.”
“She forgave you right away.”
“Yes, but still. I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. I just get sensitive about weird things sometimes.”
“Your song wasn’t weird. It was amazing.”
“Even though the chorus was too high? You were right about that, by the way.”
“It wasn’t— Okay, yes, even though the chorus was too high. No one’s ever written a song about me before. I couldn’t believe it, I still can’t believe it. I read the lyric sheet in the morning, and sometimes it’s the thing that gives me enough energy to get out of bed.”
“I get out of bed to see you.”
“Yes, because you’re lovely. I’m sorry for hurting your feelings. I’ll try to think more about how what I say makes you feel.”
“Ugh, but now I feel bad because I made you feel bad! And I do love the way you think, I really do! You see past everyone’s bullshit, you catch the details that no one else does. You’re more perceptive than any of us.”
“Not perceptive enough to tell when you’re upset, apparently.”
“No, I should have told you. Instead of being a passive aggressive ass, like I am.”
“You’re not an ass. You have an ass, a nice one at that, but you aren’t one. I love you.”
“I love you too. So much. I’m sorry for yelling and being stubborn.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Goddess, I hate arguments.”
“Is that why you spend so much time on SnapGab?”
“…Okay, I hate arguing with you. You’re too cute to fight. You just win by default.”
“Tell that to our debate coach. According to her, I’m not ‘ruthless’ enough.”
“I’ll fight her.”
“You sure? She lifts.”
“So do I. Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“Sometimes. It’s a lapsed hobby.”
“I believe you.”
“I’m serious. I can be swole.”
“I believe you!”
“For the record, I really would love you if you were a worm.”
“Pfft. On second thought, you’d make a pretty lovable worm too.”
“I’d wriggle so well.”
“You are very good at wriggling.”
“Can I wriggle over to you?”
“You may.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“I’d love that.”
