Quiet Mornings

Who? Rarity? Pinkie Pie? Fluttershy? All my friends? Well yes, I'm still friends with them, but they have become busy with their lives. I remain a humble librarian, not destined for great things. My fate is a bit different, for I desire to do nothing great. I prefer the simple life, appreciating the good and bad in every moment.

Anywho, enough about me, let's talk about today. The sun shone through the dusty blinds that never seemed to be quite open or all the way closed, always drifting in the middle. Though the sun glided above the land, it wasn't warm. Snow littered the ground, a frosty wind ruffling the coats of stray ponies, brave enough to wake at this early hour. The tattered chair I resided in, no matter how old, was still comfortable and warm. It's once vibrant green had faded and dulled over time to more of an olive with hunter trim. Steam drifted up from my smooth, black coffee. Though strong, the scent was assuring, comforting. It reminded me of my winters back in Canterlot as a foal where I would wake up to the beautiful aroma of my mothers coffee intertwining with that of the spruce tree that adorned the corner of our living room, readying for the holidays.

I shook my head, clearing away the fog of pleasant memories. Taking a sip of my coffee, I let the hot liquid coat my mouth before sliding effortlessly down my throat. I dropped the cup from the grip of my magic, down onto the side table, watching as small waves rippled out from the mug's edge. I sent a glance up to the front counter, the barista slowly polishing of a clean mug with a levitating rag. Letting the cloth slip from the aura of her magic, the barista stacked the shining mug atop the others with a yawn.

Looking back down to my drink, I shifted in my chair. Pulling a quill and piece of parchment from my saddle bag, I settled them both down beside my coffee. I liked to write here in the humble little cafe. I hardly knew how it stayed open all these years, as their never seemed to be more than a few meandering stragglers sipping their drinks, occasionally munching on a purchased snack as well. You could I say was the only regular, as I spent my free mornings here, watching, listening. Soft jazz music flitted lightly from a speaker, perched precariously on a ledge. Though it wasn't crisp and clear, I appreciated the gentle hum of the sound system as it let the music flow from within.

An out of the ordinary sound pulled me from my usual daze. The bell at the front door rang, signaling another pony had come this way. I had never seen him before, meaning he probably didn't come to this cafe often. I could recall just about any pony who had been here before, sweet memories bringing their face to recognition. I wondered what his story was. Who he was.

The pony made his way to the counter, walking slowly, but not leisurely, more thoughtfully. He smiled at the barista as he approached her. There was a spark of recognition in her eyes and she livened up from her previously bleary state. I watched them talk, though I was just out of earshot. In my mind, they were once again rekindling the flame of love, as time and distance had tried to snuff it. He had her smitten, never to forget him.

I allowed myself to drift away from reality, my quill drifted across the paper as I wrote out the average, but not so ordinary love story. Too many novels wrote out dramatic, compassionate love, when it could simply be a cozy closeness you feel. That's what these two lovers shared. A barista and, let's say, a musician. He traveled from place to place, reaching out to the land with his soft tunes. She stayed in the small, stuffy town known as Ponyville. When their schedules agreed, they got together, meeting after far too long. She ruffled his hair and pulled him close, locking up their love with a gentle kiss. He grinned in return, not quite as expressive as the once flamboyant mare. Though trapped in the fog of everyday bores, she could spread her light when he was near. He stepped behind the counter, wrapping a hoof around her neck and pulling her close.

"I missed you," he admitted, finding it hard to let his feelings slip through the noble shell he had built up.

Though she didn't respond by forming words, she buried her head in his mane, wrapping her hooves around his neck. Staying like that for quiet a while, they let their actions talk, rather than the disruptive clamor of voices. In their own world, neither would have cared if the building crashed down around them, because they had each other, and what else really mattered?

Suddenly, I woke from the daydream that my quill had been recording. I found myself still in the cafe, the barista, once again, cleaning up the shop. She polished up the counter with a clean rag, making sure it sparkled. The stallion who had walked in, was now outside, letting the door shut with a click. With a scarf wrapped around his neck, he headed about his day. Where he was going, I had no idea, but he walked their with purpose, levitating his cup next to him in a cloak of lime green magic. My fantasy over, I packed up my writing supplies and leaned back into the plush chair, coffee in hoof. I looked out the window, watching the sun sparkle on the freshly fallen snow.

Well, some would argue I waste my days away, reading, writing, and watching. I wouldn't debate with them, but I wouldn't agree either. I like how I live my life, sitting in the cafe or the library, sipping black coffee in the quiet of the early morning.

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