“My heart it sings a song of purest joy.
You enter in and strike me with your gaze.
I cannot breathe; the sweet air that now cloys.
I surrender to you all of my days.”
It was a sonnet. At least… it was part of one. Written in Iambic Pentameter if Twilight Sparkle was reading it correctly. She had awoken that morning, stretched languidly as she briefly considered turning back over and sleeping more, before she finally dragged herself to the bathroom to prepare for the day. And there, resting snugly in the crook of the bathroom mirror was a piece of lavender cardstock with a simple insignia of three balloons embossed on the back. When she had flipped it over she had seen the words, written painstakingly fine in script lettering that would have been a nightmare for any pony who couldn’t use magic to lift a quill, and yet each letter was a work of art in itself, lending to a cohesive feeling of fine craftsmanship.
Absolutely breathtaking. Twilight set the card down carefully, being cautious not to set it where it could get wet, and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. A sleepy grin stretched her cheeks, tugging at the corners without her conscious consent, but she really couldn’t blame them for expressing the warmth she felt in her chest as words tumbled gaily through her mind. Pinkie Pie had written her a sonnet. A sonnet. Or part of one, at any rate. The sound of gleeful humming pinged and echoed around her bath chamber and she glanced around briefly before realizing that the sound was coming from her. She laughed at the ridiculous oversight and continued to get ready for the day.
She caught herself practically prancing throughout the day as her thoughts continued to drift back to that thoroughly romantic card from the mare that had stolen her heart so deftly. Long summer days spent lazing in the cool grass, learning to appreciate the depths that hid beneath a veneer of frivolity that the pink pony wore like a mask, seemed to bind them heart and soul. Perhaps she was waxing poetic herself, but she had never imagined the filly famous for fiestas would be a thinker and a wordsmith. What had she known? She had been so focused on the outward qualities that drove her mad, but now she was driven mad an entirely different way by the inward qualities that were hers alone to know and to love.
She pulled a book down from the shelf and began paging through it when another card appeared. This one was a deep navy color, still embossed with tri-balloons, with letters penned in a lovely silver ink.
“What can I do without you by my side?
Nothing. I am a wretched thing alone.
But with you near I have no need to hide;
My darker side and deepest thoughts you’ve known.”
She stared at the glittering ink for long moments; an incredible sadness overwhelmed her as the words fed through filters of meaning and came back with shades of shame and tints of regret. She returned to her bedroom to place the card in a box on her nightstand, resting it carefully atop the paper that came before.
She could only assume at this point that the remaining piece of the sonnet would pop up sooner or later, whenever her candy mare thought it would catch her off guard the most, she supposed.
The last few lines seemed to haunt her; they contrasted violently with the first set that had inspired such lofty feelings of bliss, of walking on air, when these last only made her hooves drag as if she was being weighed down by the pure volume of melancholy in her heart. Her dear, sweet lover; the object of her most sincere affections, constantly battling waves of self-deprecation. The battle was never won; the troops would never get to rest. She felt fatigue drawing on her shoulders, wanting to pull her down down down until she was prone on the floorboards, struggling no more. How much worse did her Pinkie Pie have it?
The spring in her step was gone. She fretted and considered and worried herself into a tizzy. Spike commented on her knitted brow, and she took pains to set it straight, but to what end? The same depth she had come to appreciate in her dearly loved partner also brought pain. Nights spent, clutching her as tears fell and insecurities lay bare tore at her heart but bound them even closer. She wanted nothing more than to be a shield for her surprisingly delicate friend, and she felt in her heart of hearts that Pinkie Pie felt the same.
Night fell, and she climbed up the stairs to her bedroom once more to attempt sleep. She was alone, painfully alone as Spike had disappeared without a word. She felt drained, worry did that to her, and she was ready to collapse. There, on her pillow was a pink card. A quick check produced the embossed balloons once more, and on the front were elegant letters in flowing black lines:
“My dearest companion, my closest friend;
You are the sweet melody of my soul.
The rest of my life with you I will spend,
Because without you I cannot be whole.”
Tears flooded her eyes, and she quickly turned her head to shield the poem from their rapid descent.
Unable to absorb the breadth of her emotion, she let out a shuddering sigh and murmured, “Two lines missing, you silly filly.”
Gentle hoofsteps sounded behind her and she spun to see the face of her beloved; her features were soft and subdued, her eyes sparked and glinted in the dim light of the lamp with what seemed to be pure, unadulterated affection. She stood still, clutching a final piece of paper gingerly between her teeth, a darker purple in color, with that same silver script that she had admired so, earlier on in the day.
Twilight stepped slowly over to where she stood, peering down at the paper to read the final couplet:
“No words are there for this love I feel now,
Only death will part us if you allow.”
Twilight looked up from the ending of her day long sonnet, confusion apparent on every corner of her face, “I don’t understand.”
The earth pony set the paper on the ground with the utmost of care. She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her mouth before crossing her front legs before her and settling in to a low bow.
“Twilight Sparkle,” her voice seemed strained, like she was trying her hardest not to let her tone waver, “would you please think about maybe someday marrying me?” The earth pony bit her lip before continuing with a voice heavy with emotion, “You are the sunshine in my heart, filling me up, and chasing away all the bad things that want to hurt me. You are my balance and my support, and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t promise to love you forever and ever.”
Twilight crouched down to lock eyes with the now obviously terrified pony, hiding behind the voluminous mass of her wild, curly mane; barely perceptible, she trembled and swallowed, waiting and hoping.
Twilight cleared her throat, once and then twice, hoping that the tears shed would not impede upon her ability to speak clearly, “Pinkie Pie, you are the most incredible mare in Equestria. You are the oasis in my desert of loneliness. You are my joy and my song. And I would have to be the stupidest pony to ever live to reject you.”
A tentative smile, “You’re the cleverest pony.”
A soft kiss, “So what do you think my answer is?”
Unbridled, unequivocal joy that only one could supply and only one could reciprocate. They were bound, heart and soul, in deed and ever poetic word.
Forever.
--Author's Note--
While most stories in this collection won't be connected at all, this one actually takes place in the same reality as Alliteration and could be considered an epilogue of sorts.
Purple prose isn't a problem when you promise it in the title. Right? Guys?
In all seriousness, I wanted to write a sonnet because I'm not rightly a poet but I watched The Raven this weekend and felt the incredible need to try my hand. Let me know if the Iambic Pentameter is off or just flat out doesn't work.