dear little horse-face,
i have known you since i was nine years old. you have been with me for over half my life, and we’ve had some disagreements but you have always, always been there for me. and i know, you don’t fit the definition - you have four legs and can’t speak english - but shit, no one else comes close.
i remember getting to know you; i didn’t even own a saddle, we borrowed one from claire five afternoons a week. there is one moment i remember so clearly - it was after 5pm, and marked the start of my habit of talking to you even though you couldn’t respond. we just walked around, not really doing anything, sand arena under your feet until my mother came over and said i had to get off because someone else needed to use the saddle. you felt so new, i felt like i finally had what i needed, and you haven’t left me since.
and that’s why this hurts. you are moving on, slowly but surely, and i have to move without you. someone else needs you now, another nine-year-old me, and while you aren’t hers yet i feel you slipping. i want to thank you a thousand times, anchor myself to you somehow.
i am terrified of the day you might forget me.
know this, though: i will always have a place for you.