this is your kingdom, this is your crown; a laura pony

[adaline]

I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine
I want all that is not mine; I want him but we're not right

 
If anyone knows what it feels like to be broken, it is Adaline.

She feels it in her very marrow—feels it in the way that her lungs constrict painfully with every breath, in the way that her bones press dangerously close to her skin. Her fragility is always simmering just below the surface of her skin so that she is never able to quite forget it. She sees it in the raw pink of her eyes, in the impossibleness of her slender body. She is beautiful, perhaps, but not in a way that most people understand. She is an alien amongst them, and she knows it. She can never forget it.

The only one who has ever been able to understand has been her brother, and she knows in her heart of hearts that she is losing him. She is losing him, and she has no idea how she is going to survive that. Will life even be worth living if she does not have him? She doesn’t have the answer, and so she wanders. She spends her days carefully picking her way through the meadow, careful to skirt outside the throngs of bodies where she may be carelessly jostled. What may be a simple fall for others could be fatal for her.

Though she wants nothing more than companionship, she does not approach any—that is, until she sees the mare standing on the edge of the water. There is something in her expression that seems familiar; something that speaks to the gut-wrenching loneliness that has started to breed in Adaline’s stomach. So the glass mare alters her course and walks up beside her, trusting in the other’s good graces not to bring her any harm. “Adaline,” is all she says as a greeting, her eyes not tearing away from her sad reflection.

 

in the darkness, I will meet my creators
and they will all agree that I'm a suffocator