I smile when I think about the way she moves, laugh when I think about her tinkling laugh, and forget to breathe when I imagine her kissing me. Reality returns like an unwelcome visitor and she ignores me in favour of her work.

I return home after a long day of helping her, disheartened. Like every day, you put away your tomes and scrolls before welcoming me home. Tears threaten, and I stumble forward into your waiting hooves; crying because she hasn’t noticed me.
You hold me close, whispering gentle reassurances.

Are you to me, what I am to her?