I knew things would be over soon when she whispered in my ear: “I think I love you.” 
	
The words came deep into the evening, when the Apple Family finally closed down their Annual Barnstormer and shooed all us local yokels out into the darkness. We were the last ones out on account of Greenie’s hooves being so sore. She danced to every song the band cranked out, fast or slow, which was why her front hoof was wrapped around my shoulders. 
	
“I think I love you,” she says again, her other hooves shaking under the dirt road. 
	
My heart falls a little lower.  
	
“You think?” I say. I make the tone playful, just in case she doesn’t understand what she’s saying. 
	
“Yep,” she says. She taps her head with her free hoof. “Fully calculated in the Leafy Green Calculator of Love.” 
	
I let loose a sad chuckle masked in joviality. She’ll be gone from my life within the next two weeks. A month, tops. 
	
Not that she’s planning it now. Even in her exhausted state, she means what she says.
	
[i]I think I love you[/i]. The harbinger. A code uttered by Ponyville mares, a subtle escape clause for when the nagging doubts take control. The phrase they could point to when their friends gossiped about the dissolution. [i]I thought I loved him. I didn’t really. Not now, at least. The affection came from one too many sleepless nights and lonely beds. You understand, right?[/i] And they will. They really will. It’s something everypony does at least once in this town. 
	
A shame. I really liked her. 
	
Not that this stopped me from being a gentlecolt, of course. I felt her weight digging deeper into my muscles and her discomforted groans becoming louder with each step. I asked if she would like to stay the night at my house. It was closer to us now, and she could rest her hooves in ice until she fell asleep. 

“Oh, thank you!” she says, giving me a peck on the cheek. 
	
“You’re welcome,” I say. 
	
She giggles. “Stop being sweet. Too much sugar is bad for you.” 
[hr]
We come to my house just before midnight. The full moon makes it look light blue and bigger than the cozy bungalow it truly is. She’s busy whispering happy secrets into my ear, tales of a soft-nosed jackalope and mysterious lights she saw up north.
	
She follows me inside and flops on the couch. Her contented sigh accompanies the grey leather squelching under her emerald body. A bowl filled with the Cakes’ Peanut Butter Chocolate Surprises jingle in the bowl on the coffee table. In no time I’ve got ice in a green bucket, and Greenie lowers her back hooves into it. 
	
“So much better,” she sighs. “I don’t think I could’ve walked another ten feet.” 
	
“Then how will you get to the bed?” I say. 
	
Her face goes red. “Robin! How can you be so crass?” The concern soon melts into a lascivious grin. “And how come you didn’t suggest so sooner?” 
	
For a moment, the shame threatens to burst. I should stop this now. Just get up and say we might as well end it here and carry her back to her house even if she can’t stop crying into my neck. A mercy kill. It will be far easier than what’ll happen next over the following weeks. The conversations growing stilted, eyes glancing toward the clocks ever more often, the conveniently increased workload to justify canceled dates. 

Then the final blow, announced in a quiet voice masked as mercy.
	
It’s only quick thinking that saves my charade: “Do you want some candy?”
	
Greenie smiles. “A little sugar never hurt anypony.”
	
I grab the bowl and hold it out to her. She takes a hoofful, as do I. She’s still chewing by the time I’m done, making soft [i]mmm-mmm[/i]s accentuated by the peanut butter making her cheeks stick to her teeth. 

I lean down and kiss her chest, going as deep as I can into her thick fur. I feel her hooves come around my head, not so much holding me as guiding me upwards. Up her shoulders, to her neck, to her face growing red with anticipation instead of embarrassment.  
	
“It’s so good,” she said. Her lips smack with each syllable. 
	
“I know,” I say, staring into her now-happy eyes. “If only we could taste it forever.”