I look up at the sky. Why? Why did you take her away from me? What did she do to deserve this? To have somepony you love more than life just ripped away like that...
But the anger is misdirected. I am the one to blame. I just don't know what went wrong that day. I should have kept a closer eye on you. I've been told over and over that it wasn't my fault. But how can they say that? Protecting you was my most important responsibility, and I failed. Now, life is dark.
You were the light of my life. Having you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I still remember, clear as day, the day I brought you home from the hospital. I looked at your tiny figure in my hooves, and you were my little bundle of joy. Yes, it's clichéd, but that's how I truly felt. My life before you no longer mattered. You were my world. And without you, I am homeless.
Oh, yes, a little beacon of light. My little candle on a dark night. My lighthouse in foggy waters. Nothing else mattered when you were around. Every time you came to me crying because you skinned a knee, the rest of the world ceased to exist. I would hug you, kiss your boo-boo, and tell you, “It's OK. Mommy loves you, sweetie.” And you would feel better. And as long as you were happy, then I was happy, too. I just wish, more than anything, that you could be here right now to kiss my boo-boo and tell me it's ok.
I remember the way you always liked to smile. You trotted around the house all day with that goofy little grin on your face. I remember the time I asked what you were grinning about. And I remember your answer, “Because I'm so happy, Mommy.” I told you I loved you and gave you a hug. And your smile grew even wider. I would give anything, anything, everything, to see that smile again.
I remember tucking you into bed every night. I would play with your mane a bit, maybe tickling you a little so you laughed, and then giving you a kiss on the forehead. Your little horn was so adorable. It never mattered to me that you had no wings. You were my daughter, and that was that. You asked me about it once, “Mommy, why do I have a horn instead of wings like you?” Rather than try to explain genetics to you, I just told you, “Never think for a second that it means I love you any less.”
It brings me back to when I was a filly. I was born with unusual eyes. But the other foals just thought my wall-eyes meant I was stupid. They used to call me names, like Herpy Dooves and Crazy-Eyes and Derpface. I used to come home crying to my mom, but she just pushed me away and told me to suck it up. I guess that's why I liked to spoil you. But you never were any worse for it. You were kind, and helpful, and smart too! You were top of your class, and your teacher loved you. She told me about the time you stood up for a classmate who was being bullied. You protected the colt and told off the mean fillies who were picking on him. It's like I always told you, “True evil comes not from bringing harm, but by standing silent and allowing it to happen.” But you never even mentioned that to me. I guess that it was just second-nature to you to be so nice. Or you were just being humble. But either way, when I heard that news, my wings just couldn't lie still. I was overjoyed that I had succeeded. Succeeded in teaching you the values that every parent wants for their child. I was a successful parent, and you didn't even have your cutie mark yet.
I wonder what your cutie mark would have been. I often felt that mine didn't really sum me up well. Yes, I can blow bubbles, but that's not all I am. It doesn't tell you about the real me, just a little picture. Still, it's a part of me, just like you were. I think your cutie mark would have been a candle. You always had a way of brightening up my mood. A self-centered idea, perhaps, but one can only see the world from one's own perspective. And from my point of view, you were the main source of good in my life. Sure, I liked muffins too, but nothing could have compared with you.
You really seemed happy that time you made muffins for me. You asked me if they tasted good, even though you burned them. But since it was you who made them, I answered, “These are the best I have ever eaten, honey.” I said it to make you happy. And I meant it, too. It doesn't matter how they tasted, as long as it made you smile. Now I eat these delicious muffins that Pinkie leaves on my doorstep. They are freshly baked banana nut ones from Sugarcube Corner. But when I put them in my mouth, it's just not the same. They are rich sweet, made from the freshest bananas and walnuts with just a hint of cinnamon. But it's not the actual taste that matters. They taste hollow. Hollow like me.
What hurts me the most is that I will never get to see you grow up. I will never get to see what kind of mare you turned out to be or what your cutie mark was. I had big hopes for you: I prayed you would grow up to be kind, compassionate, and strong. I will just have to remember how you were. I can never forget those seven short years you brought me happiness.
And so I sit here, crying, in the dark. No little candle to give me light. No little pair of golden eyes to look up at me. No little hooves to wrap around my legs and tell me it's OK. I'm all alone. I miss you, Dinky.
