It seems I have what one would call a dilemma. A dilemma to which the only solution is firmly out of my grasp… Or should I say, range of courage.
You see, the problem- The magnificent, wonderful, horrible problem is…
I am completely, uttermostly, absolutely, and as Rainbow Dash would put it, Tee-To-tally, in love with Big Macintosh. There, I said it.
It doesn’t nearly seem to say enough though, not when everything about him makes my heart pound. The way his mane moves in the whispering breeze of the orchards, the gold strands holding in the air for just a second longer than should be possible. The bright red of his fur that makes my cheeks match them in vibrancy. The soft smile that graces his lips when he stands under the shimmering and changing shade of his beloved Apple trees. His brilliant and bright apple cutie mark that seems to gain such a tantalizing sparkle after a hard day’s labour’s sweat catches the sun. Those brilliant green eyes more beautiful than any emerald. Those adorable freckles that I just want to kiss~
Oh dear, I’m getting a little carried away aren’t I…? Where was I anyway? Ah yes, I’m in love with Big Macintosh.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
I’ve considered a lot of things, ways to confess or some way for me to get this all off my chest, but in the end… I just end up terrified. I knew I was a coward, but this is just a little bit ridiculous. I’ve been… Reclusive, yes, I admit to that. I’m painfully shy at times, and more often than not my solution to social problems was “Run away and hide.” I thought it was rather effective. Until I met the girls anyway. They showed me that it was okay to be myself, to say what I thought- That I didn’t have to hide, or stutter out something incomprehensible and run off somewhere safe and comforting.
So what is it about this stallion- This amazing, incredible stallion- That makes me forget all that they have taught me and leave me peeking around the barn with the desperate hope that Applejack doesn’t see me. Oh Faust help me if she sees me. I will die of embarrassment. Or say something extremely stupid. Or more likely squeak out something incomprehensible and stupid, and then die of embarrassment.
Yet, I still keep going back to Sweet Apple Acres to see him. It’s usually with some sort of random made-up-on-the-spot excuse, but I still keep going. It’s like seeing him wakes up that fierce and spectacular courage that only seems to rise up when I needed it the very most… And which dissolves away into tiny atomic particles the second I start thinking about confessing.
Oh, but I have to confess! Or at least, I’m pretty sure I do. Maybe I don’t have to actually- Maybe this is just a passing thing or something, or it’ll all resolve on it’s own… Lots of things resolve on their own! I’ll just ignore it, and it’ll go away! Then I won’t have to think about how much I love to see his smile, or how his fur would feel against me, or how he’ll forever be out of my reach because when it comes down to things I’m a coward.
And I just tore the parchment. Great. Wet paper is way too fragile. ~~Stupid tears. Why did I have to start cryi~~
You can still totally read that despite me scratching it over, can’t you? Of course you can. Ugh I feel like such an idiot. It’s probably a good thing that this letter is just going to go straight in the fire when I’m done. I just needed to write it, this, something down. Say something, even if it is only to myself for no-one else to read.
So, I guess that makes this a letter to me. And if I’m talking to myself, if it’s penned to me… Then I think I have a question.
Why are you such a coward? Why am I such a coward? The little ones look up to me, see me as a guardian angel, someone who can face down their greatest fears without flinching. In ways, that is true, fears are relevant. Much like how a spider means little more than a snack to a raven, while being a nightmare to many ponies, the things you are afraid of, I’m not.
That doesn’t make me brave. If anything, it makes it all the worse… For the reason why I can stand against your nightmare, is because it can’t hurt me. With my friends beside me, holding me up, and the strength to protect what I love leading me onward- I know, deep down, that it can’t hurt me.
The things that can hurt me, though, I am terrified of. Rejection, betrayal, failure, disappointment, those things hurt more, and bring more pain than any physical wound could. A physical wound will heal in weeks, and the pain usually fades within the first stages of healing. Emotional takes years upon years that leaves one in an eternal storm.
And so I tell myself that doing nothing is better. That doing nothing surely can’t bring pain. That smiling and going on in my care taking duties as I have since I came here will make everything alright, and that with the matter of time all will be resolved. Yet, much like how standing, unmoving, in one spot does little to avert a disaster, and only makes one stiff and feeling foolish, each passing day makes me feel only heavier still.
There is a whisper of hope in the idea of telling him of my attraction, telling him of my adoration and how he makes me feel. Telling him how his simple words and steadfast resolution speaks more to me than the waning on of a motivational speech. I bet he would hear me, too. I bet he could hear past all my muttering and see past my mask, and know the me that’s behind it all. If I could just speak, he would surely listen, right?
Maybe I should write him a love letter. They’re very traditional, and I wouldn’t be able to stick my hoof in my mouth, or forget what I was saying half-way through, or just totally losing my voice and end up wishing I could disappear behind my mane and turn invisible.
And I might just not manage to ramble horribly if I write a love letter. Maybe I could look up some poetry and do something like that? Can’t get much more traditional and romantic than a sonnet. Oh, but I don’t know if he likes poetry. Or what if he doesn’t like all that mushy romantic stuff? He might find it presumptuous. Doing a love letter at all is kind of presumptuous now that I think about it. That’s okay, though. I think. Being a little presumptuous can be endearing, right? I think somepony said that at some point…
I wonder if a love letter would be too presumptuous. It probably would be too presumptuous, wouldn’t it?
…Now the word “presumptuous” looks funny to me. I’m going to have to look it up now to make sure I’m spelling it right.
Yes, that is how you spell it. Presumptuous is an awful funny word. All those vowels stuck together at the end, it makes one wonder how it came to be. It barely looks like a word at all, more like some jumbled letters that were put together for fun. It still sounds like a word though, when I say it out loud, so maybe it’s just me. Or maybe I’m over thinking this. I really do tend to over think things, I know I do. I bet I’ve just ended up standing there just staring off in space getting weird looks. I certainly hope I didn’t do that at any important time, and the girls just felt weird about telling me. They’d tell me about that sort of thing right? That’s what friends’ do, let each other know about their flaws so we can become better, right? I think it is. Oh dear, what if it isn’t? What if I’ve been irritating them horribly by pointing out their flaws when I shouldn’t have been and they were being nice and polite when I wasn’t by not telling me and I was being horribly presumptuous and
I just stopped to check that I spelled presumptuous right again and now I realize I have no idea what I’m talking about anymore.
Twilight Sparkle’s head hit her desk the second her quill had dotted the last period on her now very long letter. The quill dropped roughly to the scratched wood of her writing desk as her magic went out with an exhausted fizzle.
I think I need to go to bed. Her mind groused, the last shred of logic she still held quickly agreeing with it. It was getting hard to think straight at all at this point.
Moving as little as possible, Twilight shifted her tired gaze from the crumpled paper in front of her to the clock above the door. 4:30 AM. That makes it a full twenty-four hours. She sighed. Closing her eyes in the middle of the sigh had been only natural, but opening them again felt as if she was going against every fiber of her being.
With a decidedly pathetic groan, Twilight pushed herself out of her writing chair and unto the cold wood of the floor. Her legs felt more stiff than they had in years, and they gave an ominous wobble beneath her as she landed. Out of sheer, automatic habit the scroll was rolled up and dropped in a drawer as she made her way over to her bed. Maybe tonight the strange dreams and distorted images would leave her alone and she could actually get some sleep. She collapsed onto the patterned blue quilt like an abandoned rag doll, and was asleep before her tail had chance to follow suit.
Much to her dismay a few hours later, Twilight discovered that she had forgotten to draw the curtains across her bedroom window before going to bed- And now the sun was more than eager to get her out of bed with its far too bright rays. First, of course, came the rolling over to avoid them. That doesn’t work too well when the sun can reflect off your bedroom mirror and pale walls, however. Second came hiding under the pillow. That is never comfortable, and usually does better to wake one up further than easing you off to sleep once more. Third comes pulling the blankets over your head for five more blissful minutes… Which is completely impossible when you are laying on top of the lot as Twilight was.
Finally, as it always does, there comes the moment when you just admit defeat to the sun’s twice-blasted rays, and either get up to draw the curtains shut and try and go back to sleep, or just get up altogether. The sun could be defeated by cracking her eyes open enough to magic the curtains shut. The return of the night’s panic, nerves, weight and worries, however, could not.
Knowing far too well that she would only toss and turn until she fell off the bed- Again- Twilight just got up.
The smell of sweet oat porridge and eggs filled the air as she staggered down-stairs. Spike had clearly gotten up a couple hours ago, and was already making breakfast. It smelled good, despite her stomach still in the steadfast belief that it would reject anything she gave it. The kitchen table felt pleasantly cool as she slumped against it, her head feeling far too heavy for her to sit up straight like a good girl.
“Hey Twilight, did you finally get some slee- Oh wow, you look horrible.” Spike had cut his own cheery question off, and Twilight cracked her tired open eyes to see the worried expression on her assistant’s face.
She realized a second later that she had been expecting him to be laughing.
“Gee thanks Spike...” She grumbled, letting her eyes slide shut again.
Spike was silent for a second, and all Twilight could hear was the clinking of wood against steel as he dished up breakfast.
“I’m just worried about you Twilight,” He muttered, and the sound of ceramic scraping against wood echoed out as he pushed something across the table at her. “Can you at least eat?”
Twilight sat up a bit and rubbed her eyes open to blink down at the bowl of sweet oats in front of her. It took her a couple seconds to realize that Spike had actually gone out and gotten grape jelly to top it with in hopes of catching her appetite. The idea of eating still made her feel nauseous, but one look at Spike’s wide and worried eyes made her push that thought aside.
A look of hope crossed his face as her spoon lifted itself up from the table with a flicker of magic, and she took a large spoonful of what she reminded herself was her favourite breakfast. Initially, the texture of it in her mouth made her gag reflex revolt. She fought it down though, and as the pleasant and beloved flavour hit, and once her stomach realized quite how desperate it really was for nourishment, the rest of the bowl followed with no problem… Other than that there might not be quite enough.
Spike was more than willing to fix that problem though. After the second bowl was scraped clean, Twilight leaned back in her chair, finding herself feeling just a little bit content. The headache she had had for the past couple days was quickly disappearing, and despite still feeling exhausted, the fog permeating her brain had vanished, leaving her able to think clearly once more.
That disappeared with one called-out sentence from Spike.
“Oh, I sent that report you wrote last night.”
Twilight froze. Her mind stuttered to a stop, and she fought down the waves of panic that were threatening to well up. It was a good thing Spike was in the kitchen, and out of her current hoof-reach, for if he had of been at the table in front of her, he would have had a somewhat crazed mare in his face shaking the living daylights out of him. As things stood however, Twilight was able to fight herself for a good minute before speaking, and therefore had a good amount of composure when she spoke.
“W-what report? I didn’t write one l-last night.”
“Oh. Maybe it was an old one then.” Spike came back into the living room to see the panicked look on Twilight’s face and froze as well. “Don’t worry Twilight, I’m sure if I accidentally sent like, an unfinished one or something, I’m sure Celestia’ll notice my mistake and just send it back. Then again, with your definition of unfinished, she might just give you an A+ and you’ll see you fuss too much. I still don’t know why you have to make sure that all your words are separated exactly two centimeters apart-“
“No no, that’s not it,” Spike jolted back as he suddenly had a somewhat crazed Twilight three inches away from him. “It’s that, uh, I- Where did you find the report that you sent?!”
Maybe it was old research papers that I’d tied up, yeah, I bet that’s it. Celestia’s gotten random papers before and she thought it was rather funny once she’d gone through them all and realized what happened. Yeah I bet that’s all, no reason to panic, no reason to-
“On the floor in front of your desk drawer. I figured it had rolled off the desk.”
I forgot that the drawer was locked.
Oh buck.
“Celestia is, is, is rea-rea-reading, tha-that let-lette-Eurk.”
Spike did a double take at the sound that had just escaped his librarian. It sounded very much like a squeaky toy getting stepped on, and it worried him slightly… As he was 90% sure ponies aren’t supposed to make that sound. Twilight had completely and utter mostly frozen in spot, as if her mind had shut down and had left her as stiff as a statue. He had to fight the urge not to poke her to see if she’d tip over.
Just as he struggled to figure out what to say to reboot her, so to speak, what felt like a spectacularly large burp came to his throat. Knowing full well what it was, he belched out a large plume of flame that contained a single scroll from Celestia. He caught it with practiced ease and bonked Twilight on the nose with it.
She shook back into proper movement, her eyes crossed on the scroll he held.
"See Twilight, Celestia even wrote back, I’m sure it’s nothing,” He said, giving her a reassuring smile, before handing over the scroll to her and returning to doing the dishes.
The scroll was unfurled faster than any scroll before it had been. The words inside both confirmed her fears, and somehow tampered them all out.
My dearest student Twilight,
I realized very quickly that what Spike had sent me had been done by accident, but I still ended up reading it from start to finish. As this is clearly personal thoughts, I hope you can forgive me for that. The reason why I read it, however, is because I know exactly what you are going through, and it was almost like looking back into my own diary.
So please, listen to your mentor, if for only one more time. Tell him. If you don’t, you will only regret it, and sometimes amazing things happen when the truth is let out to the air.
Yours truly, Princess Celestia.
The paper snapped back up to a tight roll as Twilight’s magic left it all together. She stared at the spot to which it fell, Celestia’s words rattling around in her head. Then, a single thought came to her mind. I guess… I guess that settles it then, doesn’t it.
Big Macintosh had a dilemma. In front of him stood a mare he knew well, a girl he knew was a precious friend to his younger sister. Twilight Sparkle still stood exactly how she was five minutes ago, head bowed slightly and eyes screwed tightly shut after blurting out that she was in love with him. It had been barely five words, and not at all what he had come to expect from the extremely intelligent mare.
Yet, here is where his dilemma began. It ended with how his younger sister was watching with a strange look on her face from across the field, but it began with this;
His usual cover-all for when things were a bit bewildering did not fit in the least. And it’s opposite was not even up for consideration. It was the very last thing you could make him say at this point. As he struggled to think of the right thing to say, knowing very well the longer he took the worse he was making Twilight feel, a single thought came to mind.
Meh, Screw it.
And with that, Big Mac kissed his crush of six months and twenty-two days firmly on the lips.
