On a quiet hill outside Ponyville, there are two trees side by side. One that butterflies flutter around, and woodland creatures bask in the shade of. And another that if you watch closely as the sun rises and sets, seems to glow.
Every year a mare with a white coat, pink mane, and a cutie mark of a sun obscured by rain clouds sits beneath the second tree and reads a letter.
A simple letter, written by a foolish mare.
A foolish mare that life will never be the same without.

Rarity goes through her day, everything is fine, everything is perfect and Rarity isn't lying to herself at all. Any evidence to the contrary is fabricated. A lady never cries. A lady never breaks down.
A lady could use some help.
Everything isn't behind her. Not yet.

An experiment in writing by a cranky musician.
I'm not a writer so if you have a suggestion to fix this thing, I'm all ears. Thanks and have a good one.