And it happened. We woke up one morning, the thoughts of what was the day before or what was supposed to be the day after. On a completely strange, lightly wet grass field, staying in the clear before the sight of the astral star field. We woke up, she and I, completely without a worry or feather, as two humoristical strands of hair that yet don't succeed in bending their own nest. I remember, the southern wind was blowing. Or something, maybe completely different. One or the other, I don't know what to say of it. It blew strong, but that was hardly important, for the face I was holding in my hoof was so soft, tender and warm. Was my own like that? Who would know? Only drunk on her presence, childishly, playfully, I put my head on her chest. Moment by moment, tick by tick, as slow as an ancient arc carried on the deepened azure horizon that is the sea, by nothing more than a single sail. With each passing moment, I fell complete. Luna forgive me, for I fell like a pear from it's tree, broken into two, only searching for it's belonging other half, and I have finally found it. The moon was full, spilled and concentrated, deep. The dawn of a new day was approaching, but what day? I could not answer. And orange be everything, and as high as her altitude possibility, mixed the earth, the cyan sky, and dream, but above all, she. Who could determine, what was more beautiful? Her eyelids or her eyes themselves, don't ask me. I do not know and I don't remember that kind of beauty, such wish to drown in that deep, yet bright allure that was the beauty of her indigo eyes. I was very young, and in my depth the butterflies have only yet began to bloom, and everything was gentle under the closed doors. Visible were storms and rain kept assaulting, the frightful sort of rain, insane and heavy, and they seemed as if they would destroy my youth, and from those butterflies, only the broken cocoon would remain. But then there was she, who kept that from happening. She, who would keep her safe, and she, who I would keep safe.
From that moment, I believe that the world was ran by love, and is still ran by that same force, but the fact is, that world is insanely and yet, sanely swinging in it's beautiful lore, and insecurities will be forever gone, or maybe, there would be yet, even more. I was afraid of the fearsome shouts and yelps or closed balconies, and turned heads behind every rock. But why? Because we were different? My fear would vanish when she would open her eyes, for they had the fragrance and power of the golden beach sand, where the sea would wash away pain and breathe into them, and it would seem as if day and night were changing in the same moment, who knows from where. Even I would need to jump, to sail, to get wet, and to dive into the abyss exactly like that, and so after the sharp cold of The Winter Season, Summer would shine again.
And so we woke up again, she and I, like two trolls banned and dictated from every Church and Temple of Celestia, from all Gardens of Eden and they who had no word, except the symbol of a so-called 'hard sin', and every individual with that symbol on them let out to the many to get murdered 'justful' by stone and steel, and each one quiet as the sea in Summer, and each one quiet as the being of stone. And from the Altar, you can hear; ''Celestia is love, Celestia created mare and stallion, not mare and mare. Let all who defy her highness' law be damned in Tartarus for life.“
And again, I think, that our love is not by the law. But then again, care I do not, and again I am with her in the sunrise, sunfall and midnight, and then the harmful altars quiet down, and for me the stone bells of accusation break apart, for of love they've no idea. The soul is genderless, like love. Love radiates from it, not minding the tons of stone and the torn words between them, for love of the paper does not touch me in the slightest any more.
And it happened, we woke up that morning, like worms, butterflies, centipedes, squirrels and all woodland critters. And that morning in her eyes there was shine, and the witness to it was the wing in every drop of water, as if in a mirror shined the clean faces like a thousand flags on which only her hair was seen. And it seemed as if the earth was mocking the sky while I watched her lips which whispered the language of it's own, and they were warm, cyan, full of loving blood. Language we only knit, as they cried and whispered something of misery, something of sadness, something of happiness. And like ice ponies we rubbed our noses together and drew hieroglyphs, and made gimnastics like the yellow or green. And we smiled at the world which would not understand and spat us from the altar, and they themselves did not recognize what was truth, what was lie and what are souls when they love each other even if for a minute. Our temples of blood and love again knit into a ball, in the grass on the wetter rose underneath the shining stars, standing for love, believing that it create and that is still creates. She and I woke up woke up, though I do not know why we woke, because dreams were more beautiful than the screaming threats of them, in dreams there was not even a single head as if symbols of the gates of Tartarus.
I still woke with her, and they still break their heads about Stallion and Mare, and nothing else. Of the soul's love which they aren't aware of. And I still wake with her from morning to morning, I grab the luck, and with a single breath, I blow away the candle.
In time, me or she will depart, and leave the other behind, outside of the dream, alone. But in that time, we will still be together, for our love is unseparateble. And when death takes one away, the other will still be under the other's wing, and providing the other safety, even though the dream and sky will weep, and the altars might stop screaming, the heads might stop turning, but only for us. For others, no. Because when the altars stop screaming, I will start, for without her, I cannot imagine. Because when the heads stop turning, my own will turn, to see back her, the colorful spectrum of my life.
But with time, we will be together in the same dream, forever being one with each other, as the ying yang.
For I am the butterfly, and she is the rainbow I fly upon. She is my Rainbow Dash, and I am her Fluttershy.
Author's Note
Inspired by the LGBT group protests. This is a fic for supporting the act, and to let out my feelings. It's the only chapter, yeah, but I might write a FlutterDash story later. Thank you for reading!
