I don’t know if I ever told Charlie how much I envied her wings, but if I knew her thoughts that day, I would have. See, I would trade my magic in a heartbeat to be able to fly- if pressed to it, I might even give up my horn, even though unicorn defined me in ways girl or woman, sister or princess never would. I envied her wings for all the obvious reasons: the freedom, the ease of travel, the primal longing to spread our wings (feel not just each and every feather stretched out but the delicate space between them) and feel the wind beneath us. But more than that I wanted a better sense of perspective. I wanted to rise up and see the court fall away between me, the plains and forests and mountains growing smaller and smaller with each moment. I wanted to see, really see, how everything I knew and loved was in the grand scheme of things as tiny and insignificant as a single grain of sand on the beach.
It’s probably some sickness that that is why I wanted to fly.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t bring it up.
“Okay then, Asparlie’s garden it is.” I grinned, it was such a silly sounding name.
I had already said my thanks, but I felt the need to thank her again. For opening the door, for promising to keep this place a secret. For being a friend, even though we didn’t get to see each other often. “Thanks Charlie. You’re a good friend.” I pressed my muzzle to her cheek in a kiss, and gently readjusted her pretty new scarf. “Want to get something to eat? I’m starving.” I did not particularly want to leave our garden, which was still full of secrets waiting to be uncovered. But I had come to learn that if I let myself get caught up in something interesting, I would let hours and hours pass without food or water, emerging from a manic haze with an empty stomach and groggy, sleep-deprived brain.
So I would allow myself time to eat, and drink, and maybe even take a nap. But I would return to our garden again and again, until it had emptied all its stories into me.
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