Things are simple. All things, it seems.
I wake up, I study, I go to work, I spend some time with Twilight, and then I sleep.
I like that time best; sleep. It’s so calm and close. Close in two senses that is. The first is the way it knows me. It is my own mind after all, so it would be unworldly peculiar if it didn’t know me well. I might even go to the distance of saying it knows me better than I do myself. The second sense is its warmness, its literal feeling of being close to me. I open my eyes in the morning and it’s all so far away from my dreams, so far away from my mind. I’m really not sure how to describe it, but I’m sure my dreams do. I wish everyone could all be there in my head so my dreams could tell them everything for me. They are such better storytellers than me.
Now I think the second best time would have to be with Twilight. I think. I’m more than sure that sleeping is my favorite time. But I really like spending time with her. Time with Twilight is…
…
…I’m not sure how to describe it either. It’s this weak feeling just above my stomach. It’s warm, it’s good. I think that will have to suffice despite its simplicity, because that really is what it is. It’s good. Spending time with her is good.
When we talk, there is this constant nervousness in me. She giggles when I stutter and the sound of it makes my heart soar. I hear the same nervousness in her voice and I know it’s the same because she is afraid she’ll say something stupid. I know that because it’s why I’m always so nervous. But she could never say anything stupid, I have no doubt. I’m the one whose nervousness is justified. The chances are much higher for me. I’ll say something stupid beyond belief one day and she’ll hate me for it. It’s bound to happen to somepony like me, a nervous wreck, a neurotic perfectionist. And when it happens, I’ll die. I’ve seen it before in my books. It is possible. And if that’s true, then there’s not a chance in a quadrillion years that it wouldn’t happen to me if she left. No heart could take that kind of damage. I’ve never had somepony so close to me, so much like me. She’s warm and close. She’s like my second mind. She’s close and warm and good, exactly like my dreams. And it befuddles me to think about how I enjoy everything with her. It’s the same schedule every day; we finish work, we talk, we read, we eat, we talk more, we kiss, we…make love, and it always ends with us falling asleep with us holding each other. It’s so monotonous when I look at it right now, but when I’m doing it it feels like it’s the best night of my life, every single time.
I think she enjoys it too. I think. How much I don’t know, but I think it’s more than me, which would have to be a whole lot. I do enjoy it, but recently I haven’t been so much enjoying it as I have been thinking about it. Thus, I sit here, scribbling this out by candle light while she tosses around under the covers.
She almost looks like she searching the covers for something, something that’s not there, as if there is something missing that’s supposed to be there. Perhaps there is something that should be there. Something that should stop thinking
and stop lying to himself…
…
No, no. It’s nothing. She’s just tossing around. I feel like everypony else can just toss their daily schedule around like that, have it be all messy and disorganized. I don’t think that would work out too well for me. I feel like I’m trapped in a loop when I wake up, but then I get home, and she’s waiting for me, having just closed up. She kisses me on the cheek and welcomes me home and I suddenly feel like it’s something new, something wonderful and adventurous, like I feel whenever I dream.
It’s something about her. The way she talks to me and listens, genuinely interested. It’s the way she goes out of her way to make me happy, even if it makes her look silly. It’s everything she does.
And I’m so boring.
I don’t do enough for her. She’s definitely made me happy a thousand times more than I have if I can approximate things like she tells me I can. I don’t try hard enough to make her happy. I can never try hard enough, at least I think.
I really haven’t done anything else but think since that night. Why can’t I just be satisfied by what I’ve considered? Maybe if I think a bit harder, I can find out.
What it is that made me start thinking happened on Saturday. No. It was exactly three days and two hours ago, so that means it would have been on Sunday. Yes, it happened on Sunday that we had read a chapter of ‘Advanced Arcane Magic: Volume 6’. No. It was volume seven. We finished volume six the previous week. We were reading a chapter of volume seven and then we turned to a page about the history of love spells. It was on page six hundred and forty three. I remember because I was trying to avoid the subject, looking around and blushing stupidly because I’m so stupidly awkward. She must have seen it because she looked at me and giggled. She also blushed a bit, but it probably wasn’t for the same stupid reason I did. She’s not as inelegant as I am. But when we finally looked back at each other, she fluttered her eyelashes just the right way and it made me so unstable. She was so beautiful and I was so weird. I didn’t want to embarrass her. But she leaned in without warning and kissed me. I just went along with it, since I obviously couldn’t handle the situation. We kissed a lot right there. We used our tongues too. She was so good at it. I don’t think I was. I’m sure she was just humoring me with the way she moaned. Still, we ended up in the loft and in her bed.
We’ve never done anything other than that ‘Missionary Position’ the book showed us how to do, but I don’t think we need anything more. As I – for lack of better term – pleasured her, she moaned a lot more than she usually does. She really seemed into it. She arched her back and gyrated her hips to match my rhythm so that our… areas collided in unison, making a deep clapping noise. The sex was always good for me. It had been just as amazing every time as the first time with her, which was actually my first time at all. I was her first too, but I didn’t actually think she was enjoying it as much as a dork like me would. Though, it seemed right then that she had never been more pleasured in her entire life. It was right about at what I remember being the half-way point when she wrapped her arms around my neck and lifted herself up so that she was closer to me. I saw she closed her eyes before she forced us into a hug while we were still in coitus and then she whispered into my ear.
“I love you.”
She held the hug until I… finished…inside of her… and then she let go, falling to the mattress and letting out one last moan. From when she whispered to me until then, I was stunned. Baffled, bewildered, mystified. Those three words, they were only words, but they struck me like white lightning. There were so many other things that she could have whispered, but it just happened to be that. She couldn’t mean it. Not me. I’m not good enough for her. But Twilight never just says something. She means what she says. I sat up in the bed, staring in awe at the headboard as she un-mounted herself from me and pulled the condom I had off, teleporting it into the trash bin and then got back in with me. She lied down to sleep, but not before she kissed me lightly. I still sat up, looking at the headboard, trying to figure out how I could react. And of course, right when I needed to react properly the most, I didn’t. I just sat up for however long it took Twilight to notice and ask if I was alright. I had no Idea what I was right then, so I just lied down with her and fell asleep without saying a word.
Since that night, I’ve been thinking. That’s all I’ve been able to do. And perhaps it’s good for me. I’m sick of knowing all the time. I’m always so damn sure. But not right now. I’m not sure right now. I’ve never been so unsure. But I do think something. It’s what I’ve been thinking this whole time. Things would be back to normal if I could just decide for myself…
…
No.
There is no decision to make. It’s denial.
I know things would be better if I just said it to myself, if I just admitted it. And even if she changes her mind I won’t, because it’s the only reason I get up in the morning-
Dusk Shine put down his quill. He couldn’t even write it to himself. But he didn’t change his mind. He turned toward the bed and saw Twilight in her bed. She was stunning, even though all he could see was the back of her head.
He frowned a bit, sick of thinking. He looked back up at her and whispered into the night.
“I love you too.”
Dusk Shine had crawled back into the bed and almost fallen back asleep when he heard a very quiet whimper come from Twilight. He turned onto his other side quickly to see if she was stirring. He gently prodded her shoulder.
“Twi? Are you awake?”
Another soft whimper, followed this time by a sniffle. He pulled his hoof away. He thought he had hurt her.
“Oh my gosh!” he gasped. “Are you alright?”
Twilight turned toward Dusk. Tears were streaming steadily down her face. She sniffled again.
“What’s wrong!?” Dusk panicked.
Twilight tried to say something but she couldn’t stop crying.
“Are you hurt!?” He practically screamed into the dark and quiet library.
Twilight was finally able to get a hold of herself.
“You don’t love me back, do you?” she could barely finish.
Dusk just stared at her, hardly sure he wasn’t having a nightmare.
“It’s why you haven’t been interested in me since I told you. I noticed how you’ve been looking at me.” She sobbed.
“What?” Dusk said, shocked.
“It’s my fault. I ruined everything! I’m so stupid.”
Twilight managed not to break down before finishing the sentence, but she couldn’t help it after that. She hid her face and cried into the crook of her foreleg.
“Y-you’re t-t-too good for me. A s-st-stupid nervous wreck like me d-doesn’t d-d-deserve you.” She stuttered, hysterical.
Dusk was nothing short of absolutely flabbergasted. He was the loser. He was the one that didn’t deserve her. How it could even cross her mind that she was stupid was an unsolvable mystery. Dusk usually processed his thoughts carefully, but it was an emergency, so he just let his mind flow.
“You aren’t stupid! Don’t ever say that!”
“But you don’t love me, do you?” Twilight continued to wail.
“Yes I do!” He yelled.
Twilight tried to stop crying. She wiped the tears away from her cheeks, but they just smeared all over her face and stained her eyes.
“Really?”
Dusk was dead serious. He wouldn’t just say this.
“I love you, Twilight. You’re the reason I get up in the morning, and that’s not something I just heard somewhere, I really mean it.”
Twilight’s mouth hung open.
“If you weren’t here, I wouldn’t even get out of bed anymore. I’d just try to dream and hope it’d be of you.”
As he said this, Twilight started crying again and pressed her face to his chest, rubbing it with her cheek. Dusk had said something stupid. He blew it. It was all over and it was his fault. But then Twilight said something else he’d never expect.
“That’s exactly what I’ve been feeling!” She jovially wept into his chest. “If you didn’t love me back, I would have killed myself!”
An image of Twilight hanging from a noose flashed in Dusk’s head; a preview of the blackest depths of hell. He fought it away and hugged Twilight as hard as he could, almost crying himself.
“Don’t ever talk like that!” He commanded. “My life isn’t complete without you.”
After this, they lay there in the middle of the night, not seeing or hearing anything. But they felt each other. It was calm and close. They were both warm. They felt each other’s chest rise and fall and they felt their hearts beat in rhythm with the other like a silent rhapsody or a heavenly synchronized ballet.
“I love you.” Twilight whispered to Dusk at some point.
“I love you too, Twilight.” He replied.
He wished he could have said something closer to how he actually felt, but he didn’t know quite how to describe it. But when they had both drifted off, he dreamed of her. And in his dream he was able to describe the true feeling to her. But even if he did remember it when he woke up, he wouldn’t have been able to speak it, because the dreams spoke it to her in the language of creation, the primal imagination’s verbal gestures, the divine tongue of his mind; what no living tongue can say because it cannot reach as far as the mind can into the depths of the soul.