That wasn't a very good place to start, was it? I told you I'm not very good. You're probably thinking I'm not really a great writer, but I've never actually written anything like this before. Plus, practice makes perfect right?

So this is how I can practice: by telling you my story how it is, beginning to end. Every important interaction and occurrence, written exactly as it happens, or has happened. This might be a pretty weird, or boring story for some ponies, but new is new. Even if I'm not good, I'm not painting it gold just so you like it.

As for where to start, I'm pretty sure that's out of the way. Now, on to where to go next. Obviously the answer is forward.

Sorry, I was just thinking. Then again, you can't see that I've stopped writing. Anyway, my lesson on progress came somewhat recently. My friend at school, Minty Swirl, a unicorn two years younger than me, always said to never look behind me, to always look ahead, and not into the past. I knew what she was telling me; not to dwell on bad experiences, about which she was technically correct. Whatever I told her was a bad experience could not have been as simple as I told her. If I told her how terrible things really felt she might go mad, or fall into the same pit as me. I could never allow my problems to be a burden on somepony else.

I would always downsize things for her, though never paint them gold, like I said I wouldn't now. She was smart enough to know when something was really wrong with me, and I was clever enough to keep her just oblivious enough to think she was helping. I know it doesn't really help me to hide things, but Minty is too sweet to worry about me.

We got together at the library in town some time ago, in the town of Green Stables. We told anypony else that we were going to study, but really we just like to hang out. There's an abandoned museum above the library. We never go up there, but I've always imagined what it would be like: all the dust and old displays. Maybe we'd find a body!

Regardless, I would never sneak up there. It's not in my nature to adventure, no matter how much I want it to be.

"So what's in that head this time?" Minty grinned.

I couldn't tell her it was the attic museum, not again. Last time I did that she almost actually went up there. I couldn't stop her, but the janitor caught her just in time. I'm always afraid of getting in trouble, disappointing my parents mostly.

I had to come up with something. "Ancient tombs," I lied. It might seem completely random, out-of-nowhere, but really... the attic, possible dead body, close to mummies, kept in tombs.

"Where'd you last hear about tombs?" She was awful cheeky today.

"Just a book I saw reminded me," a half-lie. I happened to see one just as I said it, so technically it was true.

"Well," she turned her body to me, cutting me off, "tombs, books, lying..." I knit my eyebrows. "Oh come on, Timber" she groaned, "you paused a solid point-five seconds before responding, so you were obviously thinking about something before 'tombs.'"

I sighed and walked past her, toward the foal's section in the back. "I was thinking about tombs." Still technically true. "Once I started thinking about them, I got side-tracked and started thinking about related things. Tombs, dead people, grave yards, zombies, you know. It took me point-five seconds to remember what it was first." I stopped to look her in the eye, to prove I was not lying, adjusting the position of my glasses. I absolutely had to keep her mind away from the museum.

"Ok," she allowed. "So, is there anything about tombs you'd like to talk about?" I rolled my eyes and walked away again. "What?" She demanded.

"Oh you should know," I began. "I never want to talk about the first thing on my mind. Besides that, you tried to analyze me again!"

"When did I...?"

I cut her off, stopping once more, "Listing things I said, mixed with what you assumed, as if you could make a connection. You were trying to read me and guess my mental state based off 'tombs' and 'lying.'"

"Well that's just because I care." She kept her tone firm. If I hurt her feelings, she'd barely be trying to. "I love you."

It was something we said. She once told me she believed that we all deserved love, and that it came from everywhere. She believes friends love each other, and should express it, even if it's not as strong a love as mates'.

"I love you, too," I admitted. Also not lying. "But, you know me. If I have anything to tell you, I'll tell you." I almost never told her everything, but I did always tell the truth.

"I know," she said, looking down. I had humbled her, and I regretted it.

I moved closer and wrapped her in a hug. "I'm sorry," I said. "I was only trying to keep my mind off home. My parents are planning on a military school for me." She looked at me, worried. She knew I was a softy, and that I considered myself gay, she was as afraid as I was that I wouldn't survive the military. Only I was more afraid that if I went I'd lose touch with her, and drift away from my only friend. "My mom says it will help my self-esteem. But I know it's just my dad thinking he'll break the worker into me. If anything I'll be stronger, but it won't change who I am." It was an empty promise. It might harden me, toughen me. It might even destroy me, but I can't let him down.

"Well," Minty looked to the ground, thinking quick, "will you visit?"

"I don't know," I said. "If so, not often, and my mom will want me to spend time at home."

"How about letters?" She asked. "You can write home, right?"

I nodded, then fixed my glasses, "Most likely. I'll write to you every chance I get."

I have thought about asking her out, but knew we'd never make it past the first date. She's a very determined decision maker, and if we ever lived together we'd only ever disagree or argue. She's also very intelligent, and tends to be a tad insensitive. But she is a good hugger, and likely good at cuddling. Despite any pros, I could never imagine marrying her. Besides, the female body has always, kind of, disgusted me.

I don't mean to insult mares, and I know I could never handle child birth (since I'm male), but I could never see one — or imagine one — and get, "turned on." I know I'd only been aroused by males, based on how mares make me feel, and only really felt remotely comfortable with another male. Then again I could be wrong and feel no sexual attraction toward either gender. Stallions feel better, I guess. But mares have a certain softness that's pleasing now and then.

You see where I get confused now?

The only experience I've had was with a stallion named Loaf. We met at a summer camp that I've otherwise forgotten. He was 18 when I was 16, and he was very kind. He wasn't very smart, but he was wise. Plus he really knew how to bake!

He had a speckled, wheat-colored coat and a mane that could only be described as rye bread. He was fit from working in his family's wheat fields, but still barely an inch or two taller than me. We became good friends, he taught me to swing a scythe — a big 10 on the excitement scale for me — and I taught him how to read. He told me about his family. I didn't tell him about mine. His just seemed so much better, so I left out anypony but my mother. Told him she sent me here to make friends, even though it wasn't working too well. He disagreed with me, of course.

One night I had a nightmare, where my older brothers and father threw me out. Their eyes were black, angry but also crying. They threw me out the front door of our house. It was huge, but I remember I couldn't fit back inside. Apparently, I cried in my sleep. Loaf woke me up and cuddled me in my cot for the rest of the night. I never felt so safe with anypony else. I remembered hugs from colts I used to be friends with. Comparing them to fillies, I always felt safer.

I just realized, I might have some need for greater safety. I have a desire to feel safe, protected by somepony stronger than me. But how can that be? I've always felt the need to protect others. Even Minty Swirl has a childish demeanor that needs saving now and then. Then again, I do always go to her with my troubles. Could it be that I've been so supportive for so long, that I've let myself become vulnerable? Impossible.

But, could my subconscious think otherwise?