What do I do with you, Rose…

You know, your dad used to be in a band. You didn’t know that at the time— he was a drummer in a garage band. I asked him why he stopped and the answer was simple: life got in the way.

I thought this was ridiculous. After all, if you really love something; why wouldn’t you live and breathe it until your dying day? Call it naïvete, call it idealism, but I didn’t know what life was at the time. Now I do, and I get it.

You compiled a collection of your songs into an album— one which you did no promo for. You have only composed a small handful of songs since. It’s mostly Trance music— not like those big name DJs, but contemplative music from before you were born. Most of the time I’m just working, so I can’t work on it anyways.

Working, yeah, a necessary evil in this world of ours. What was “to pay for college” is now “to pay for a house”. What was college is now dodgy guides from the local library. At least Twilight’s put up plenty of those.

What you’ve accomplished are mostly small steps. Equipment, time in a studio, a gig for 50 ponies that your singer managed to weasel his way into through local name recognition. It’s nothing big or life changing— but I feel like I’ve still changed even more.

Hero worship and wanting to be remembered is a bit silly no? It’s a lofty goal to aspire to, but one that gets further from me every day. I used to think that the moment I finally ‘made it’ would be getting a letter with the words, “You inspired me”; be it in art, as a pony, or in general. But I’ve been at it for 6 years, and I’ve found fans sure, but “you inspired me” is a pipe dream— a scrap off the table I fed to the dogs.

You still have your stallionfriend, but discussion has changed to moving in together sooner rather than later. That young love is simply dissolved. You’re more like two chaotic friends than lovey-dovey sweethearts.

The friends you have are now passing, old schoolmates you find in the streets sometimes— ones you have to laugh with awkwardly as you announce you aren’t in college, or that you’re a mare, or that music hasn’t really panned out at all. Or maybe they’re coworkers you don’t ever plan on seeing; you just deal with them at work and go home to your studio to make 8 bars.

The single closest friend you had, Morning Dew, has now fallen out with you— a disagreement about identity that was always boiling under the surface. It took 5 years for me to finally notice that he never saw me like I did. It’s going to hurt, but that’s what that old song from all those years ago is there for. I gotta keep pushing forward.

Contrary to what it may sound like; I don’t actually hate living. I love living. I think doing new things is one of Celestia’s greatest gifts to the world. In fact, if anything, I’m more sad that all the goals I set for myself just haven’t been done. I’m happy, but unsatisfied. Fine, but incomplete. Some of my creativity feels like it has died and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back. I’m just living, but I want to live.

But hey, I’m happy with just living. I just imagine what had to happen for me to get as good a life as I have. I have treatment for dysphoria, a loving relationship and family, a steady job, a myriad of experiences, and I’m only getting bolder by the day.

The one thing I don’t have is creativity. Maybe that’s just the Artist’s Paradox.

As for me in 5 years. I know by now that I don’t know who you’ll be. I don’t know what pony I’ll become. But hey, maybe you’re in college. Maybe you’ve made another album. Maybe that creativity has festered into something manageable again. Maybe, just maybe, I can go beyond “just living”, to “living”. After all, a lot can change in 5 years. I think I’m proof of that.

Sincerely, Rose

Author's Note

This is a Raining-Verse story but I didn’t want to market it as one.