weathered

Aei'ith Why do people have children? Is it really the gears in our evolutionary clock pushing two beings together and screaming procreate? Is there a deeper meaning; a deeper connection that drives two people together like colliding planets in the ever-expanding darkness that is the universe? Are there invisible strings, constantly shortening and expanding, tied from one horse's heart to another horse's heart, pulling them closer and closer until they meet in a moment called fate? Are strings ever severed, knotted, mangled, in some unredeemable way? Or is it all just coincidence- lottery numbers pulled from infinity?  Are some of us destined to be alone? Born in a time when the population total in the Rift was crescendoing at a rapid pace, it was no surprise my mother found someone to fuck. She had always loved to do that- to fuck. I was simply the consequence of her negligent actions, her lack of caution, and her wild, untamable spirit. My mother had abandoned me as she had with all of her other children, which was no surprise to me. At my feeble, young age, I understood this is how she functioned. Her life was not about normality and formality, but instead, it was about following your heart, no matter how many times your head and gut screams "no". I felt destined to be alone- eternally fantasizing that at least one other horse would mesh with me- the other component to my two-piece puzzle. Eagerly I would imagine falling in love, being in love, being loved. The thought of the indisputable sparkle of true romance always attracted me. The captivating notion that another's body would curve where mine curved, each dip and bulge of their body fitting flawlessly with mine, had always been a prevalent and wildly appealing thought. But in the now, I was alone- solely a consequence of my mother's foolishness. I could only comprehend the feeling of rejection as I had not been shown much else. Was I fated to be alone? As my whiskered snout descends to the outlandish blades of grass below, minute patches of snow dotting the scene, my mind is engulfed with the remembrances of my mother and the forlorn, aching feeling that coincides with them. Despite my antlered crown appearing daunting and proud, I feel so, so, meager- the world could pulverize me, grind me up, and spit me right back out in a mere second (and that thought alone makes me hold my wings tighter to my flank in fear). talk the search for more

image credits