I wake up in the morning, just like any other pony would. I get to my hooves, one at a time, make my way to the bathroom, and stare at myself in the mirror. I eye my massive frizz of pink bedhead and the dark circles around my eyes from another night of poor sleep, then finally look into my eyes. The cyan eyes that I look at every morning, the ones that stare back at me with the same questions I ask myself.
Who am I fooling anymore?
My name is Fluttershy, and I don't have a heart.
It was ripped out of me in a five pronged clutch of a lost soul who I can never hope to attain. His attack was quick, merciless, and the sweetest numbness that I've ever experienced. The posture of his confidence numbed my skin for operation. The smile that curled on the edges of his lips cut the skin and his cool tone of voice had my heart in its clutches before I could even breathe.
When he first came to Equestria, my whole world changed. I've never dealt with the concept or even idea of romance before. In some ways, there was never time. Taking care of animals is a full time business. You never know when one may fight another. An animal might get sick, one could get lost, or even worse. My job in Ponyville is to care for each and every animal in their own way.
And Anon was the first to make me question my life's calling. As I knew well, better than any other pony, Anon isn't a creature, or critter, or animal, or any of the other sort. He's a human. He can understand our words and speak back to us in proper conversation. He has likes and dislikes. He can perform tasks for work, and has a self-awareness that other animals don't share. While most animals can serve as pets or create homes in the wild, they cannot fully integrate into our society and form their own lives for themselves.
Anon is different.
He, in exception for shape, was no less alive and aware than a Diamond Dog, Griffin, or any other Pony. But, in this world, appearances are everything. And the human, is an animal. An animal, that I am hopelessly, mercilessly, painfully in love with. And so my eyes stare back at me in the mirror, and I ask myself a single question: 'How long can I keep trying?'
I sit at my kitchen table, a bowl of oatmeal sitting in front of me. Oatmeal seems to have three temperatures. Molten lava, just right, and frozen solid. Which, frankly, speaks to me. I take a spoon of my breakfast and lift it to my mouth. The searing temperature burns the skin on the roof of my mouth and I instantly spit it back into the bowl. Taking a sip of water, I stir the food absent-mindedly, a hoof on my chin.
It didn't always used to be this way. What happened to the days of building up over an hour of confidence to walk up to him and say 'Hi'? What happened to the days of asking if he'd like help choosing a pet? What happened to the days of asking him to dance at a Pinkie Party?
The days and memories feel so distant and forgotten, like a friend that forgets to keep in touch after moving away, or a one-time lover who's name you never knew. Cold. Distant. Forgotten. An icy chill washes over your mind as you work through your logic in your head again.
Rarity says that Sex Appeal captures a stallion's interest. And I was background noise to him.
First, I started with swaying my hips more when I was around him, hoping he would stray his eyes my direction, silently, as if he thought he was sneaking glances when I didn't know. But I did know, and he did not watch. I tried talking to him more, I let him talk about things he was passionate about, and it backfired on me.
He was so handsome when he was focused. When Anon talked about something he loves, there was a light in his eyes, a spring in his step, a worldly wonder that I couldn't possibly touch, for fear of breaking its fragile form. There was a genuine quality to him that I've never seen before in any stallion. What I saw, was what he was, and what I see, is what he is.
However, the world has a funny way of working.
As I sat back and listened to his concerns, listened to his stories of Earth and life long lost, I became more than background noise. I became a friend. I became a trusted confidant. I became close to him. But, I did not become loved. I was still unloved. I am...unloved.
I blink my eyes and stir my oatmeal before lifting a bite to my mouth. The heat finally dissipated from the meal as I chewed my breakfast. Now... things are different.
After becoming just his friend, I was encouraged to come onto him again. Peer pressure, I believe it's called. At the time, my friends didn't seem too concerned that he wasn't a pony. He had became friends with all of us. I sat on his lap once, on a crowded couch. He didn't get the hint. I pretended to fall asleep on him once. He didn't get the hint.
I asked him to carry me home once from a party, feigning too much alcohol. He didn't get the hint. And... I wasn't sure what else I could do. The suggestions my friends had for me were failing, and I knew I needed to do something. I had to step back and re-evaluate my situation.
Anon is a human. He's not a pony. Humans are animals, scientifically speaking. And, while some animals mate for life, there is courtship involved. There's various ways to have an animal fall in love with another animal. The color of the fur, the color of the feathers, the sound of their voice, their songs, their eyes.
Anything could have provided a key to winning a human's heart, but I didn't know where to start. I figured... the best thing I could do was be open, honest, and direct. Be assertive. Overcome my fears. Be the pony I wanted to be. I told him... that I loved him.
I take a bite of oatmeal, and it was cold, pressing itself deeper into the raw burns inside my mouth. I welcome the pain, invite it in like an unexpected reunion of a lost friend. I wipe a tear from my eye.
I grab my bag and make my way, one hoofstep at a time, towards Anonymous's home. I don't know when it began. I'm not sure how it started, but after that day, it's like something snapped inside of me. I knew my actions. I had full awareness of what I was doing. I went to his house, every day, to tell him that I loved him.
That I loved him so much. That I had dreams of being curled up together by the fireside. Dreams of walking down sandy beaches and feeling the cold water wash under my hooves, watching little crabs scuttle towards the ocean foam. That I thought, every day, of the contours of his face. He was kind, at first.
But, his patience thinned.
Soon, he tried not opening his door, but that did not stop me. He is an animal. And I knew I could court him, if I tried hard enough. Just as other species of animal could woo others, I could charm Anonymous.
I tried bringing him gifts. Flowers, Perfumes, Poetry, Meals, Baked Goods, Sweets, even occasional Jewelry. All of which failed. I brought him medicine when he was sick. I brought him warm soup in the snow. I brought him clothes when he ran out of bits. And sometimes... he'd even thank me. But, I did not feel he owed me. I did not feel like he was mine.
I wanted him to see... that if I loved him... maybe he could see a way to love me. But it didn't happen.
I never watched him through windows, or followed him through marketplaces, or tried to drug him at parties. Nothing so drastic. But... I did decide that... maybe a more primal touch would be necessary. I began to offer more than just my servitude. My love.
It took me a while to work the courage, but I offered myself to him. And I was refused.
I only blurrily remember the first time it happened. I stood on his doorstep, doing my best to use the lines I read from a romance novel Twilight lended me, but he slammed the door in my face.
Why? Was I ugly? Was my body not satisfying? Was it because I was a pony? I still don't know.
But now, I trot down this path, unsure of who I'm fooling anymore. I'm... unloveable. Nopony wants me, or my body. Is that why I so desparately fling myself at the human I want more than anything else? To feel wanted? To feel like I have some sort of worth?
I don't deserve him. He exists high on a pedestal that I placed him on, and now, my wings are too weak and tired to fly.
I step on his front porch, my voice cracking and eyes watering. I take a minute to clean myself up with the inside of my wing, that way, he won't see my turmoil. I knock three times. The same greeting, every time. I hear him groan from the other side. I don't cry at this anymore. After enough papercuts, you grow used to the pain.
He opens the door, and stares down at me with disdain. I avert my eyes, trying not to lose my composure.
"What?" he asks in a low, threatening voice.
"I... uhm."
"What? What fetish is it this time?" he asks cutting me off.
"Uhm..."
"Out with it," he says.
"I. Uhm."
And suddenly my guess for the day was gone. My time was gone, the time had passed. My friendship to the only human in town had turned to the cold form of inedible oatmeal. In that moment, I suddenly realized that I wasn't fooling anypony anymore.
I was barely fooling myself.
Anon wouldn't love me. He never would. I am unloved. I am unable to be loved. I will never be loved.
Tears formed in my eyes as I looked up to him, trying to hold back the groundswell within me.
"I love you," I said weakly, in a tone that sounded like a child trying to raise a parent who flatlined.
He grunted.
"Go home, Fluttershy. It's not funny anymore," he says.
And slammed the door in my face.
I felt a part of myself leave on that doorstep, a small fraction of my being fell to the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces, watering his flowerbed and welcome mat. In that moment, I felt myself die.
But, I turned myself, and followed the same trail back to my home, in a state of undead. Too tired, broken, and exhausted to be alive. Still too much life within me to be dead. I take a deep breath and shake my head, composing in my head a list of things to do today.
I only wonder what his perspective of this all might look like. Is it some sort of comedy? Some sort of game? Am I just some sort of nuisance, marring his peaceful, quiet life in Equestria? If I were gone, would he finally be happy?
I shook my head.
'Silly Fluttershy, don't think those things. Afterall, there's always tomorrow.'