"So he would always have a friend?" (Daylight)

I was doing more research for my "Ponies Around the World" upload of this year and while watching a video about the place I visited, I came upon a piece of music. "On the Nature of Daylight" by Max Richter. A comment below the video said the quote that you can find in the title. I don't know where it's from, but it moved me on such a deep level that it immediately gave me a vision.
A filly and a stallion standing at a grave, during a funeral, and the filly looking up at the stallion and asking that question. "So he would always have a friend?" And I explored it. That was all I heard and all I saw, but I wrote it down and I kept writing while listening to the music on repeat, letting me carry by the sad melody. I want to share the result here. A story about a lost soul, who died alone and lived alone:
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Daylight (Working Title)

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“So he would always have a friend?” The filly looked up, at the stallion next to her, at her side.
The stallion nodded. “Yes. All he wanted was a friend.” He lowered his head, pulled the hat deeper into his face and tears were streaming.
“Hey, don't cry now!” the filly spoke, alarmed. “He got what he wanted in the end, isn't it? Kind of, at least? His dream became true, right?! Right?!” Unbeknownst to her and against her advice, tears began rolling down her own face. “He did..... right? He got what he wanted..... isn't it?” she asked, her voice turning to tears now.
The stallion huffed, his mouth emitting strong breath to vent the feeling in his chest, and he pulled the filly at his side. “He wanted..... he wanted a friend. More than anything. It..... it was not bestowed upon him. He kept fighting. But..... in the end, he lived a life of loneliness. One that ended too soon, much too soon.....”
He took another deep breath, then turned around and lowered himself to let his face meet her eyesight at the same height. He lifted a hoof and gently held it at her cheek, where her tears soaked his fetlocks. “But..... you see, the trees here were his friends. They became his friends, in dark times, when there was nopony else to care for him.”
“Trees?” the filly sobbed. “Trees can't be friends..... they weren't there for him. They just stand here. They can't be like a real friend.” Her body was trembling, as the fit of crying pulsated through it.
“Um-hm.” The stallion nodded. “They can be friends. They are not ponies, but..... he could hear them talk. They whispered to him, he said, gave him advice and gentle words when he needed them. They sang him lullabies at night, when he came here, onto this graveyard, in moments when the pain was the biggest. He told me a lot about it.”
The filly brushed his hoof away, angry now. “Then why didn't you help him?! Why didn't you be his friend?! When he came to you so often!”
The stallion gulped and bit his lip, trying to find words for what was so hard to explain. “He was a special pony..... He was not like the others..... not like us. What he believed, nopony else believed. He was..... what they call an outsider. Ponies did not want to associate with him. They did not want to be his friend.”
The face of the filly became overtaken by desperation, grief not over the deceased, but over the fact that an entire town of ponies could be cruel like that. “Then why?” she asked, the sobs from her throat increasing tenfold. “And what about you? What about you?!” Her voice turned into a shriek, her little hooves started pounding against his chest. “What about you? What about you? What about YOU? Why didn't you be his friend?!”
“Because..... I..... I underestimated his pain. But..... No..... The truth is.....” He struggled, for the first time in his life feeling how it was to see your dark side, to admit to yourself the things that make you avoid looking at your own face in the mirror. “I..... I was the same.”
In front of him, the face of the filly fell apart, the admission driving out all the anger, all the pain and all the sadness, leaving only a cold feeling in her chest.
“I..... did not believe him, either. His knowledge was ridiculous, I thought. His science, what he called as such..... preposterous. An insult to our society, to our style of life. He was trying to prove us all wrong, but nopony believed him, no pony liked what he did. So he became an outcast. They hated him, all of them did..... And I..... I was the same.”
“Then why are we here?” The filly let her hooves sink, dejected, feeling weakness now. “Why are we here if you hated him so much?”
The stallion got up. He rubbed out his tears and looked at the grave that was towering before them. “I did not hate him. Not..... like the others. I just..... felt so enraged at his theories. Like everypony else. How could he question our society like that? How could he desecrate us? I shoved him off my doorstep more than once, kicked him out of my apartment so many times. I don't know why he came to me..... but perhaps I understand it now.”
He took in the sight of the monumental grave, let his eyes glide over the gilded letters that formed the name of a pony who had perished with the best of intentions in his heart.
“Only when I saw his letter, his last message, I knew how strong his pain was..... And how wrong I, perhaps, had been. I read his letter over and over again..... Before it was over and afterwards..... I rushed to his little home in the trees..... Only to find out that it was too late. He wanted the best for us all..... And perhaps he was right. I had to be here, to honor him at least in death.”
Around them, a small crowd of ponies, barely more than closest family, a crowd their minds had blocked out, was starting to move, to depart for a feast none of them deserved. They were clad in black, just like them, but nopony carried flowers. It was a portrayal of politeness, of keeping face in the face of death.
The stallion took in the cold air, as his tears slowly started to dry up. “To honor a lost, misunderstood soul who wanted to save us all.....” he spoke solemnly. “I had to be here. And I had to bring you with me.”
The filly sniffed. She looked into his face and a bit of the anger returned to it. “Why?”
“Because, perhaps, it is not too late..... The foundation, the groundwork of his studies, it was made when he was a foal himself. That's when the spark hit him.” He looked down at her, smiling now. “You are about as old as he was when it all began. Tell me, do you want to help make his dream become true? You might be the only chance. And it would bring him peace.”
The filly stared at him, blank-faced. She looked at the large, black gravestone herself, eyes welling up with new tears. And her face became serious as her eyes, too, wandered over the gilded letters. “Show me,” she said. “Show me what he couldn't do.”
And they left, turned for a future that was in their hooves now. Maybe, if the universe wanted it, they could still save their country.

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I don't know who the stallion and the filly are and neither who the deceased stallion is, yet. And I am not sure how they look. I see a green coat of the filly and her mane is, perhaps, either purple, red or a dark orange. I have to think of Big McIntosh when I see the stallion, but that's probably just because Big Mac is the stallion I know the best. He talks very differently.
I also don't know what exactly happened here yet. A broken society, a stallion who wanted to save his people, perhaps from their own evil in their hearts, studies that were seen as an insult to ponykind and something about the trees..... that's what I can see.
I will have to explore this further. Someday, I want to write down the complete story of this stallion and the ponies who work on making his dream become true after he is no more. But until then, I just wanted to share this. Read it with the music playing in the background, if you haven't already, it has the most effect that way.

Stay easy as a filly!

~ Fluttercheer