Here we are, you and I,
The sun has set, the candles lit,
Together again for the very first time.
In public, no less.
But in this crowded room
Of dining pairs, and threes, and fours,
We're alone in our own little world.
You yourself are very lovely. As always.
That well brushed mane,
Like sugarcane, your smile
And laugh brings out my own,
Despite the stares and pauses in chatter
Of the ponies around us, no matter,
You're what I'm here for. As always.
For you and I to defy
The mores, by displaying our Amore,
That's somehow "courage."
It's simply silly. You're no filly but a mare.
I can't help but stare
At your radiant eyes of sky and sapphire and ocean,
Both an expression token
Of natural beauty that reflects, too,
A sharp gaze that measures and crops,
Hems and stitches what everypony else fails to see,
A vision most grand made of details most little,
And from that, beauty is shared.
Lending your soul to every work
You make and toil and strive,
How else can I derive
Why I'm in awe?
Impressed since I was small but now I'm tall.
Tall now to look you eye to eye and smile to smile,
I put so much work into looking like I don't,
Then I stumble and begin to fall,
But you catch me. As always.
And I'm impressed. As always.
And so in town I put to task,
My skills, my efforts, though in the past
I failed and faltered to laughs and amusement.
I laughed too.
Learning lessons left and right, my growing up still
Is long out of sight, because I want to, and strive to,
Impress you. To have you see me, believe me,
When I say "You can depend on me."
With bruises and scrapes,
I scraped and toiled like you, for everypony else.
But not for them,
For me. For you.
From pay to pay the bits I saved and barely spent, despite birthdays,
And parties for our friends that we knew, steadily grew,
But nothing compared, no moment shared
The urgency of the goal that I set for this one night,
To be here together and moon overhead,
The string instruments playing and the dozens that are staring
At me. At you.
Your hoof in my hand,
My heart going mad,
Over whether the salad fork or soup spoon goes first.
I've studied and read, took lessons from you when you hadn't a clue,
What I planned and schemed for this one single night.
At this dinner of ours,
During this dream of mine,
For a quaint meeting of "friends," you said.
But what I want is a magic
That no words can define,
No books can classify.
Something that's ours, that nopony else can have.
That exists nowhere but right here, right now.
That's the sort of greed I've avowed because
"unique" and "once-in-a-lifetime,"
Are but synonyms for what I've grown obsessed with.
Another name to call the sweet, darling clarity
That's clouded my mind each moment and day
Of my life, a hazy and confusing goal to reach,
Which shines through windowless walls,
And coos gently in my ears during my travels in dreamscapes,
Like this one, currently.
A dream of tables and chairs and silverwares,
An evening's delight that could flutter and escape
Like the feathered beams of light, flapping against my closed eyes while lying in bed.
It's bittersweet that this one should end if only to look forward,
Enjoy the excitement of waiting for another time,
Another night like this.
That you'll say "yes" to my invitation,
Turn to me from your station
At the sewing machine and give the impression,
That even your life's work can spare a moment. For me.
That still you don't pull away
Your hoof that feels so real,
Despite the beauty of it all that only dreams can produce,
That aches to usurp the title you've already won
In my waking moments of a muse, that just a glance
Can cause my heart to pour evermore my feelings,
As many words that number a thousand from just sight alone,
Of your smile and eyes, until this night is done.
Then back again to toiling, as the day demands of our lives,
Until night resumes and we too, like owls, hide in public in the dimmest of light,
In a play of shadows of what isn't but is,
Caused by sparkling, twinkling light,
A shy but numerous light
That when paired together, nothing else compares,
Until the sun returns and our daily lives do too.
That veil that pulls between us that I want to rip asunder,
At risk of storm and thunder, of everypony's opinions,
Everypony's but ours, only now can we be safely tucked within it,
from their judgements,
On this table-sized planet of ours,
Surrounded by a blanket of starry, flickering candles that drape us in a dim illumination.
Where nothing can distract my attention from you. Except perhaps that laugh.
That sweet, nectar-like laugh that competes with the velvet feel of your voice.
It's strange, such a simple thing like conversation,
A movement of air that touches me to you,
Even if your hoof and my hand weren't embracing,
So even during day and we have our separate lives and things to do,
We're touching, holding, grasping, with every breath we take of this same shared air.
This air and force invisible, a clear and wondrous medium that steps aside,
No matter time or place. For me. For you.
So what is there to want,
When I have this present moment?
And the memories of such a pleasant dream
Of us together, should this very well be just that?
Where the world itself acts against and for us,
simultaneously, over something so natural yet not?
Nothing. Yet everything.
The very air, if I could.
If I could simply want for air, instead of need it,
life would be much more simple.
To desire it by choice rather than by instinct,
life would be less unfair.
But air is a tricky thing; a fickle body,
that blows and slows
the sails of ships on its own accord.
Pegasi wings can only guide it
into a temporary form, while nevertheless
to fly they rely upon it.
It has fits and starts, yet the softest touch,
and gentlest caress.
It doesn't laugh but simply flows, does not care nor cares to know
where it passes by, or tell any truths or any lies to questions you ask in its replies.
Air is neither loyal nor kind; it leaves my lungs breathless whenever I see you.
It simply gives and takes. My message of
"I love you."
"I need you."
"I want you."
From Me. To You.
