He was ordinary. She was plain. At least, that is how they looked upon themselves. To others, he was a craftsman, and she was radient; for, as one may know, inner beauty shines outwards, and she was of angelic countenance.

They were lacking in coin but rich with love. Such hearts, of course, were to magnetise, and were fit for one another as a perfect match.

They have grown older and wiser together, no strangers to hardship, no strangers to contentment either.

Their lives were colourful and rich, every crease on the face from laughter, gasps, frowns, tears; lives which interwove with so many others, as is the human condition, rendering their story both absolutely tremendous and yet completely ordinary.

She was a horsewoman right from her childhood. She worked right through ponies to elite racers, polo to cross country and all the way back again to a handful of characters and a humble living. Her horses were docile and mainly for therapy, as the stables was frequented by the young and disabled. Her son was, you see. He's grown older now, and can't talk, but of course she doesn't love him any less. She would never give up on him, and was rewarded with the only words he could enunciate being 'mama' and 'dada'. 

He was a blacksmith and a farrier. With great strength he could craft the most beautiful things, creative and precise, both a technical mind and a mastery of the hand. However, as many farriers do, he took one too many a kick to the knees, and suffers from it most of his life. But he carries on anyway. He won't let his passions be taken from him like that.

She was always and only his, he was always and only hers. They were always happy this way. Of course not in others- isn't that life?

I am young, and they... well they're not really that old now, give them a break. Despite having hit pension years, it's not enough to live on and they continue to work. It's difficult for them without money, what with the upkeep of the stables. I guess that's partly where I come into it- As someone who has gathered wisdom from them since a young girl to a young woman, I do what I can to help them out, by donation of time and skills. I admire them both deeply; their character precious and pure as I'd ever known.

For a while I walked the dogs for them while he struggled with surgery. She needed to take him to the hospital constantly, and was worried about the dogs. Her heart's big enough for everyone and more, and it's spent its time hurting for them too. I wasn't there when she went through her depression in her younger years, but she's told me all she learned from it nevertheless. She's gotten thinner. I bring her some meals I've cooked and frozen with mother, so that she doesn't have to worry when she's busy. She's too thin.

For a while, he got better, and the stress was lifted from both their shoulders. He made a christmas tree from some of their old horseshoes lying around, and of course, it was a jolly sight. Small, but no less impressive. It had great character; as with all his work, a piece of him resides within it. She loved it. She wanted one too.

But it wasn't to be. The cancer came back, and it took its toll on the both of them. 'A problem shared is a problem halved' is only so because someone takes on half the burden, carrying it on their own shoulders.

There was a little hope in the form of surgery promised by the doctors which inspired her to collect some horseshoes for 'when he's better again'. She dearly wants her own little christmas tree.

He's in the hospice now.

Here I am, my heart a-breaking- what on earth must she be feeling right now? If I can't sleep, how will she ever sleep again?

I wish I could help her. I owe my strength to her. I owe happy childhood memories to her. She hides her tears so well.