//------------------------------//
// She Knows 
// Story: I'm Fine 
// by Lemonshrike Catworthy 
//------------------------------//

Fine.
It’s fine.
I’m fine.
Why would anything be wrong?
I’m not fine.
But they can’t know that.
And they can’t know that.
Most importantly, she can’t know that.
She with the glitter smile and eyes like cupcakes.
She with the lavender coat that shimmers in the sun.
She the scientific genius and magical prodigy.
No.
She can never know.
She can never know how I feel.
She will never know I love her.
She will never know how I cry myself to sleep each night.
I’m lonely.
Ponies think I’m crazy.
Maybe I am.
I’m not sad because of her.
She makes me happy.
Thinking about her makes me happy.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
Why do I cry every night?
Ponies.
My entire life is laughter.
I make ponies happy.
But they can’t help me.
How could they?
I don’t let them see that they hurt me.
They dismiss me.
I love them.
They make me sad.
They love my parties.
They love me.
They never spend time with me.
I want to be alone with them sometimes.
Just me and a friend.
Or somepony more than a friend.
Balloons and bubbles and cake and sprinkles.
My life.
But my sadness.
It bubbles and bubbles and bubbles and boils over.
And I cry.
But they can’t know.
They can’t know.
She can’t know.
She walks in the door.
I’m panicking.
Tears on my coat and bed and in my eyes.
She can see them.
She hugs me.
She tells me I’ll be okay.
I won’t be okay.
I’ll be okay.
She says I’m lying.
I’m lying.
I won’t be okay.
We know it.
She knows it.
We both know the other knows.
I used to cut myself.
With knives.
I’ve dreamed of a noose.
I cry again.
Does she know her hug makes me happy?
Does she have any idea how much I love her for this?
I didn’t mean to say it out loud.
She says she does.
She says she loves me too.
She kisses the top of my head.
She kisses my tears away.
I hold her tighter and cry into her coat.
She doesn’t mind.
She’s too kind.
She strokes my head.
I love her.
I love her.
She loves me.
She loves me!
My mane bounces up.
My coat loses the grey.
I look at her face.
She smiles at me.
My world lights up.
I giggle.
I grin back.
I’m fine.
And I’m really fine.
I’m better than fine.
I love her.
I’m Pinkie Pie.
I’m the Super Duper Party Pony.
But her?
Twilight is the light that pulls me from the dark.
I’m not fine.
I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
I’m not just fine.
I’m perfect.
She’s perfect.
I tell her that.
She tells me I’m perfect.
I start crying again.
How could she love me?
How am I perfect?
She says it’s how genuine I am.
How I love seeing smiles and laughter.
It’s true.
It’s who I am.
She loves me for me.
Even when I’m sad.
I won’t hurt myself.
She would hate me if I hurt myself again.
I won’t hurt myself.
I love her.
I’m not merely fine.
She giggles when I say that.
I learned it from her.
I’m splendiferously magnificently wondrously insanely perfect.
Just like her.
My life looks better.
I look like a wreck.
But inside I’m grinning.
I’m beaming outside, too.
I think I’ll throw a party.
Just for the two of us.
And then she’ll hold me and I’ll hold her.
And everything will be okay.
I’m happy.
For the first time in my life, I am truly happy.