so long, my luckless romance; any

[abysm]

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

The sun is just beginning to rise as he steps from the ether of the dream he was just having into the here and now of the rollicking grassland. First light paints him in champagne and foam as for once the simper on his face is something other than sour. Probably because he has just spent an incredible night on the dream-plains with a certain someone... he laughs out loud as he suddenly realizes that for all their time together, he cannot recall her name or the color of her skin. 

Minute details stick with him—
The dark gloss of her eyes. How those eyes always look at him as if he’s the only one she’s ever truly seen. Which makes him feel important and good and not like wisp of nothing sundered from an abyss and cast into the fetus of a foal to give it that little extra something such as a soul. 

There are other things of course. Like the way her lips feel on his jawline. How her fur is always soft and sleek... so clean! Never a speck of dirt to be brushed off her. How their noses touch often and her breath is grassy and warm. 

He’s still not entirely certain he didn’t dream her up. Craft her from all the things that are good like sunshine and smiles, and the love he so desperately wanted once from his mother but only received in the smallest unsure doses. Secretly he’s terrified that he’s the dream but for now, he’s bodily and present here on this plane of existence. Even though he knows once - not too long ago - he wasn’t.

(he was a small boy of shadow and smoke sitting in the edge of the abyss in a place that made monsters and nightmares)

Abysm takes long-reaching strides through the grassland in no particular direction as he thinks of the dark-shine of her eyes. He’s become so deep in remembering the contours of a face that don’t really stand out to him that he almost - almost - doesn’t notice that he’s about to run into someone. The simple fact that the early morning light is momentarily blockaded from his view is what rivets him in place - initially.

Next it is the fact that she seems like something that should be in a dream. Might even be dream-made or should be but she’s standing right there in front him in a very real way. His eyes rove over every visible inch of her before he realizes that he’s openly staring at this confection of chocolate and cherry. 

Only thing is, those almond eyes aren’t in his dreams. Nor is he certain that’s the same shape of his dream-lover’s face. 

She’s still beautiful - in a way that he has nothing to compare to, just a vague notion that she’s ephemeral and beautiful like the dawn that spreads above them in an array of colors that he cannot always name. So naturally now he has to say something since he almost ran into her and has been staring at her long enough to make this moment a little uncomfortable. Maybe more awkward than uncomfortable.

“Uh... hi?”

Smooth Abysm, real smooth. 

ABYSM