//------------------------------// // us is an echo of an impossibility that was never even there and i am a falsehood // Story: the imminent wreckage of a forthcoming tide // by SecondPrances //------------------------------// footfall on crisp snow the biting air crunch, crunch, crunch new hoofprints that scar a barren, untouched landscape that just a day ago was anything but Ice crystals form in fur melt from body heat and refreeze into pointy spikes cold, the kind that seeps into skin and bone and everything leaving her, the pony hollow cold, the kind that pulls out strands of your soul stretches them out long into the bitter air like entrails left to dry empty memories and shallow emotions of him where it starts and ends she doesn't know it's this kind of cold frigid, unforgiving where seconds is all you have it places a perspective on life when you're trying to dull the pain where it sinks into your bones and your soul and everything all you have is to think and remember and walk crunch, crunch, crunch so she thinks of him the time he took her dancing and it had rained long and hard so that he had to hold out his wing to keep her dry that had impressed her then something so simple she wished she had a warm body now yet when she thought of him whether it the biting wind or something else the memory felt as cold as the freshly fallen, frozen snow billowing in drifts that curved and rose over the hill catching the sun so as to blind her white as Celestia and probably more cold, like her cottage the day he'd come over and they'd stayed by the fire all night huddling under blankets for warmth and he'd kissed her and promised her everything and she thought she'd give it in return cold, like a time before, years ago when her heart, broken promised itself never to open again for anypony else was she incapable of it or just too guarded maybe it was for self preservation or self-pity? either way Finally she stood on the doorstep of his quaint town- house and knocked dolefully He opened it quickly, lit up and stood aside. It's been weeks, he said. Why didn't you call? She held her head down and looked away and avoided his startled, shocked gaze. She did not face him, couldn't look up at his worried eyes, furrowed brow so the silence hung and the cold pierced her bones but she did not accept his urgent invitation inside, and instead they stood out on his doorstep and said nothing or until she could work up the courage. I don't love you. I never did. This life isn't for me, it's not you I have to go I'm sorry.