A dream is a wish,
A hopeful desire of the heart.
But dreaming is lavish,
And a difficult to master art.
I'd never expected to be a dreamer,
Not once in my lifetime.
But I never thought it would come time...
That I would dream of her.
Pink mane, pink coat, smiles to match,
A figure that my heart couldn't help to attract,
Glimmering globules of innocence sparkling in her eyes:
My affection for her is no surprise.
Sugary sweet kisses,
Ones that my heart often misses,
When she isn't around,
Grace my mind when I'm out of town.
An unpredictability ponified,
A pony for which nothing is justified...
It is truly a wonder what happened inside,
When I looked at her and saw love reside.
A talent at baking unlike any other,
And an afternoon of kisses that nearly smother,
There's one thing as clear as the sky:
Something impossible to deny.
Though dreams are something I do not divulge in,
The hearts' desires are what I do believe in,
And the heart does not lie...
It knows that I love Pinkie Pie.
Talkative, hyper and confusing as she may be,
She's exactly who's important to me.
She is my everything, my only way to see,
She is my lifetime, my eternity.
A dream is a wish, but she is a dream come true:
A love between both a 'me' and a 'you'.
I may not be a dreamer, but one thing is for sure:
Without her, I am lovesick...but she is the cure.
Once to the end, twice as close as friends.
I hope the long trek will never end.
Three times we've met passionately, four times we've shared those memories innately.
We live these times happily.
Five times we've gone for a bite, and six times we've made up a fight.
We are each other's light.
Seven times we've cuddled, eight times I've been left befuddled.
The affection remains unmuddled.
Nine times we've had battles with shoes, and ten times we've exchanged "I love you's".
And it's always true.
Eleven times we've stargazed, and twelve times it was her that I amazed.
Our love remains unfazed.
Thirteen times I've warned her to stay away, and fourteen times I've let her astray.
The things I regret every day.
Fifteen times I've stood by her grave,
Sixteen times I have remembered what, to me, she gave.
My heart feels an empty cave.
Endless times I have wept, and forever, her heart, I have kept.
To reach the stars above, she...slept.
I will not sever, the bonds that hold us together.
Because I will love her.
Heartstrings weak and few
Resting unused, never used
They crumble with time.
Heartstrings strong and new,
Throbbing heartily, plucked too,
The things ponies do.
Heartstrings strung for her,
Never cease their playful dance.
She puts them in trance.
The mare of parties, and more...
Commander of Amour.
Heartstrings plucked, renewed,
With just the simple words used:
"I love you, Twilight."
To explain love,
To denote it in such a scientific manner...
Is a crime, and an antonym to itself.
To experience love,
To share it with him or with her...to behold it in every second of life and every single action personally...
Is simply sublime, and the perfect synonym.
I know this myself, because I pride myself in scientific study. It's part of me, it's part of the Twilight Sparkle that everypony knows. But how? How could I know how to study love, let alone do it myself? The answer is simply, really.
The way to love is to live. The way to life, is love. It's concurrent, really. But how, you might ask, did I live?
With a pony I truly found love in. Pinkie Pie.
I first called the experiment to its beginning when I told her what I actually felt. I was foolish then - I had prepared a list, I had organized love into a schedule.
It did not stay long. Instead, it dispelled itself the moment I opened the door.
There are just some things that I can't explain, nor can any known universal law or force. Nothing can explain the grin that my face broke out in the second I saw her, or the way that my heart began thumping furiously.
Nothing, in the entire universe, can explain why I leapt as my heart did soon after, closing my eyes and throwing myself against everything I'd planned.
Nothing could explain why I decided to kiss Pinkie Pie that day.
I could explain her reaction afterwards - the sudden, stunned gaze, the breathless panting, and even the rosening of her cheeks that I'd seen, quite literally, never.
But nothing, as far as I can think of to this day, can explain why she returned the very same sentiment, without speaking a word.
Not another word was spoken, but I knew then that love came through life, spontaneously and freely when it wished.
Just like her.
Love is something not to be explained, or questioned, but instead to be enjoyed, and lived. But how does one enjoy love? My answer is simple.
It's an inherent happiness. It's difficult not to.
Only days after, I found myself seeking company with her more and more often. My schedules began clearing off study time, scientific formulae and their testing, and even sleep, to spend time with her. But why did I seek so for her company? Why did I enjoy it? Why did I not pursue my other happinesses that came naturally?
The answer came with a flutter of the heart, and one final moment of indescribable passion.
I had been stargazing, and she lay beside me - her chest rising and falling slowly, and a pink curl of her mane resting gently upon her eyes, which were lightly closed in the throes of sleep. I was so busy focusing on Orion, that I hardly noticed her mumbling in her sleep. What was said, however, was quite enough to turn my attention.
"...mmnf...Twi~light...you know...how much I love you...quit asking..."
I can't explain many things. I can't explain why exactly she chose those words, nor can I explain why she spoke in her sleep.
But in the instant that my heart melted, dissolving into an easily malleable goo, I could explain exactly why I suddenly tore away from the telescope, pressing my lips to hers in a giddy, instinctual rush of endorphins, causing her to wake nearly instantly, only to enjoy her situation just as much about as I was.
Because love is within each and every pony, and is right in our instinctual needs, alongside the need for food and water. It comes easily, and the right words, the right pony, the right environment, can set it flowing, bringing us to a higher state of ecstasy and elevation. In what ways, one can never be sure, but I could be sure that it was a greater happiness asserting itself, throwing everything but its own presence aside in the heat of the moment. One enjoys love by allowing it to be itself, and allowing it to flow.
Love is unpredictable, yet infinitely cheerful.
Just like her.
And thus, I have come to my conclusion of my 'experiment', the explanation of the unexplainable, and the results of life:
Pinkie Pie is love.
So by mere virtue, I am in love with love. Of course, I can't say 'I love love', so I'll keep it simple.
I love Pinkie Pie.