This is my first ever comment on this site and I...Fuck. I don't know what to say right now. I'm not good at expressing my feelings, like at all, I'm bad with words but I'm gonna be trying my best cause I need to say something right now.

I only recently came back to this site, I had taken a looong, like 6-12 month or more break from all things ponies with only a scant few looks on here every now and then. Its only recently that I have come back fully, reading and faving stories again. Laughing and crying at some of my favorite stories, crying and laughing along with the characters again, and its was just a few hours ago that I decided to start reading through stories of my favorite ship, Twixie. And I came across RarityEQM's stories again and I grinned like an idiot when I saw them and I decided to read through all of her Twixie stories. I laughed, I cried, smiled, and felt extremely happy reading them again.

Those stories, to me, are masterpieces, I love them all and I just loved the way that Rarity wrote those stories. As I was reading them I was really hoping that in the future I could see more Twixie stories by her, but alas Its not possible. I only learned of her death just a little bit ago, I was reading her last story and I saw a comment about it being her final piece of writing and it confused me, So I went looking through her blog and what I saw broke me.

I will say now that I'm a very emotional person and I cry a lot and rather easily, but its usually only lasts like a minute or so but what I saw broke that. When I read the comments of her last blog I saw people telling her to rest in peace and I bawled. I truly cried, hard, and for a while. Its been years I...I cant even remember the last time I bawled like a baby and cried my heart and soul out, but I just did a little bit ago when I learned of her death. I broke a little, cause It really hit me hard, cause she was without a doubt one of my favorite authors ever, of all time, and I loved reading her stories and seeing her comments on them made me smile.

I...get attached to people extremely easily and I light up like a Christmas tree when I see a comment from someone I've seen a lot on this site or an authors who I really liked and when I learned of her death it broke me a little. I felt like it couldn't be true, I didn't want it to be true so I took to the sites blog post search feature and looked up RarityEQM and what did I find, people wishing her to rest in peace and that nailed it home for me. She was dead and it made me cry harder and curse this world for taking her from us.

I didn't know her at all, I never looked at her blog posts before my break from ponies but I could tell that she was an amazing person, an amazing pony from what I did know about her. The world lost a great pony, a great writer, the world has gotten a little darker in these dark times cause of her death. We lost a great pony, an amazing community member, and just a...great friend, But we need to keep moving, She wouldn't want us to stay stuck on her death and I'm not going to do that. I can say that I will miss her, and that I'm sad that I wont ever see a new story by her, but that just makes the stories that are already here all the more special. I already did but I will now cherish those stories she wrote even more. I'm going to cherish her memory and all the stories she wrote now. And I hope that everyone else will do the same, cherish her memory and celebrate her life instead of being stuck on her death.

So goodbye RarityEQM. I hope that you are in a better place and that you're happy. Please Rest in peace Rarity and know that you made and left this world a better place by being in it and writing your stories

"the strongest stars have hearts of kyber."-unknown

"the kyber crystal is the heart of a lightsaber"-kanan jarrus

It's a bit earlier than usual for my usual report—but I've felt the need to write to you again.

I was worried for a while there, sis. Days were passing where I did not think of you one bit. Where you were so faded, like a friend not talked to for a while, where you do not think or feel strongly or much about them. I wondered if that's how it went—if that's how it goes. That enough time goes by, and that is it.

I was hoping that sadness wasn't just a fad. Something of intensity for a moment that then extinguishes and blurs into the darkness with the rest. Yet lately I've been thinking about you and feeling things about you again. It's like a sore wound that occasionally aches, summoning my attention and reminding me of the cause of its existence and, once I've gone through the trip of remembering the extent of you, soothes itself for a while—until the next time.

I've been playing a lot more VR and meeting a lot more people. Decent folks. Always after the next crew and all that.

The bulk of my friends are self-absorbed with themselves for good reasons. I'm called upon to help in every fashion I can—but the favor isn't much returned. I'm strangely okay with it, though, because it makes me feel like you. When you'd hear people's problems, talk them through it, discuss what the opposite perspective could be—and X and Y and Z.

As well as supplying whatever feeling the other person is needing.

I've been playing Beat Saber and there's a track called Drive By by Train. It's a great son that hurts to play. I always tell people it's hard to play because it reminds me of you. But I do not know if I say that for a genuine reason, that it is an expression of something within, or if it is some ploy for attention—to be special.

But this heavy thinking of you, and any excuse to want to talk about you, cause me to believe it's the former.

The times are tough. I feel uncared for, a constant failure, a fraud and a scam. I've stopped writing as I realize it's a fruitless endeavour. I do what I must, from time to time, to keep alfoat. There's always the ploy of improvement. That you can always improve. That one day you can become good so long as you follow the right track. But I've been at this for longer than I care to admit—and my potential, as a writer and person, is limited.

Are some of us, doomed, by one reason or another, to only be able to reach so high?

I don't know the answer; I don't know much of anything anymore.

Only that I miss you.

And that I'm glad that I do.

Sleep well, Soul Sister,
~ Yr. Soul Sibling, B

Two months have passed like two weeks as your departure darkens into the abyss of the past. Time always feels like it zooms when you're older. The first and ninth of the same month feel only a day apart. I don't mind this so much. Not much you can do about it. But when I think about how quickly you're being left behind—it stings.

It worries me how quickly a year can pass of you being gone. Your stories and your blogs are still here. And, hopefully, they'll be here for the ones that go looking. I ended up reading about your dad. How he'd go berserk, abuse you, then blank on the whole thing. How he only remembered the good times—and you were forced to interact with him in knowing all sides.

I'm not doing so hot myself. Should things keep going as they should—I imagine I'll be seeing you soon. I just can't take this absurdity of life anymore. You remember that person we refused to write a facesitting story for? Well, he's downvoting everyone who's paying respects, for your deaths, because of that, and because of your association with me.

We have a demeaning MOD team that you can't take anything to. A community that's either autistic or arrogant. I know it isn't swell to regard the worth of people like that—but I'm just so tired Rares. The initial thought in all this is to just be better. To ignore such things and do the stuff that counts. I've been trying to keep like that.

But I'm reaching the point where I have nothing. That I've written all that I've needed to say and met enough people to know they all turn out the same. I'm no angel either. You had far more of an impact on this world than me. Should we be able to trade places—I'd make that deal.

When I think of the trouble in writing, of the dealing with shitty people, without much to look toward... I wonder what's the point of keeping around. I have one or two buddies that keep me well. But I have none that I could come to you like. Much less a context in which I can be myself. Friends. Family. No matter. I have none to talk to about the things I want to talk about.

I keep hearing a ringing sound now. When I'm not doing or listening to something, I hear a ringing, and it's deafening. It's the manifestation of needing to do or to be in something for me. I hear it now between the pauses I take in composing this message.

I can't believe in anything anymore. I've used your name for a Romance Kindle Author that's been doing alright. Not sure it's the kind of content you would have written—but I act like you when I use it. It works alright. But even that I'm starting to lose faith in.

What is it I want? I guess... for things to not be so shit. For the absurdity to end. For some random dickbag to just fuck off or hash shit out. For the people in my past to have cared a little more about me. All of this seems terrible selfish when you stack one thing on top of another. All this it is complaining about the woe that is me. And a few foes would love to chuckle and point and take glee at this.

But I'm tired of having to think about that as I write something. I was thinking about my anger at my mother and sister for whatever bullshit they have between them now. But then I realized I didn't really care about whatever their current disagreement was, because it was one of many, and because they were all silly.

The anger wasn't at that, but rather, that they became such people that I stopped caring for.

I miss my sister and my mother. I miss when my family could meet for Thanksgiving. I liked it when we could all get together, talk and hang out, be a family instead of segregated groups. But because one person said one thing, another did this, and none talk to each other, it all goes to hell. But there's nothing I can do to fix anything. I can hardly take care of myself.

I'd like to end it if I had the courage. One keeps on and keeps going because, if enough improvement and effort is made, eventually, things will change. That you will shape yourself into a better person, in terms of various success, that will allow for you to live a happier life for it. But one must work for it. Even if that work could go on throughout the whole of your life.

One could say that it's your mental that counts. That, even in your shitty place, that your perspective on it makes a difference. But a freezing person, no matter how good their attitude is, will still be in pain, frosted over, and will either acquire defects or perish from the cold. It might help you get out of the cold but, in my case, it leads me into a little warmth, all so the cold afterward is a lot colder.

I'm lost, Rares. I don't have your ear or your care to get my through this. You always supplied the affection needed, the wisdom to be heeded, that, even if you could not help me with my problem, you could make me strong enough to deal with my problem. I had to get a longer stronger after our time. In terms of writing more and for a bigger platform and learning to be among 'real' writers and whatever. Learning how to market and putting money into advertising.

Dealing with one insecurity after another. Having none to talk to about most things. Current crew I keep with is just... I don't know. They're decent people. But I've never found anyone for me. Once more. THis is all sounding terribly selfish. Because it is. I can only remember you through my own perspective.

I just miss you. And I'm getting tired. I'll never kill myself. But I've started keeping a knife in my room. Not that I would ever do anything with it. But it lies on my desk as a reminder that the option is there. Stoics used to talk about that a lot. There is always hope of an escape so long as you turn over your wrists. It feels like I need to believe in that stuff. To become more than I am in all this stuff I used to preach.

But the life I've lived, and the people I've met, have thrown me into absurdity, where nothing has meaning.

I'm not sure I can attach some lesson or moral to you. Other than the essence that was your existence, once people stop caring for that, as most barely care for anything at all, I wonder what it all comes to in the end. Everything means nothing except for what we attach value to. But if you're the only person to value something, and you're a second guesser with low self-esteem, then what worth does that value have—even to yourself?

Still going on, Rares.

Left you a song and a video that reminds me of you.

Forever yours, Soul Sister.

~ Yr. Soul Sibling, B ~

It feels like time again after the fact I lost and had people completely vanished off the face of earth but I see Celestia took away a great gem of our community I felt that something was up after two months of silence. They’re reset on peace for entrly for the next century as a matter of fact I lost family back January 31st from national causes which I highly respect people deaths peacefully. I hope this person has Long reputation to keep I hope it doesn’t cause issues with people who like them dearly much as I have I rearly talk with rarity because of reasons why I bearly talk with people on Twitter or here. Unless your close writers friends or individuals I know of . Phrase I know relateble is silence so deadly because silence gives a u neasy feelings to people waiting every day. But furthermore I wish rarity a great place to rest for ever.