To escape the horrors of life is to escape reality itself, to forget the screams of those you couldn't save is to forgot yourself. It is a virtually impossible thing for me. How can you live knowing lives have slipped through your weakened hooves into the charred crevices of hell? The problem is that if you're me, you don't. Time might form a scab over my wounds but will never heal them. You're young, you don't quite understand the seriousness of our jobs as nurses. Sweetheart, you bandage up little fillies with banged up knees with only the love in your heart and the pureness of your mind, never maintaining a "healthy" fear of a situation in which you'd have reattach a leg with stitches and the electric wails of loved ones, not just giving it a kiss and a ten bit check to a cheery parent. A recent student from of medical school are you, out of textbooks stained with insomnia into a real world, the horrors of life not yet revealed to you. The hospital was gracious enough to give you a try, and you ate the job up. A dream come true. Your parents must be incredibly proud.
I sit behind a desk of ironwood with stacks of unimportant paperwork on a daily basis, watching you weave between the hearts of the elderly with endearing tales and trays of food, assisting lame foals with blankets and words of impossible dreams. I couldn't do your job, not because of physical abilities but simple because of mental ones. Babies cry lakes in my presence and the elders spit at me when I incorrectly heat their food. You could call me awkward with others, but that's not the case. I simply just don't have the heart for the care of the living. How long until those babies grow old, and how long until the old meet Celestia in her heavenly realm? There is no point in caring for those who will eventually die in any event, yet even I can admit to looking at life through a tainted lens. I was once like you, happy. It amuses me to make this realization, really. But soon you will come to know fear well, and your daily activities will not become the same. When blood stains the emergency room's floor quicker than it can be salvaged, stretchers heavy with natural fluid, you'll know of our lives. But I am content to leave you unstained for now.
Because when I look into your eyes, the sirens that announce murder with shrill cries in the lobby, "nurses, report to the ER immediately", leave me for once.
And I think of nothing more than the now, the moment, the fact that all I want is to be with you and forget I had a past.
I think no further, it does not do one well to dwell on impossible dreams. But that is impossible, especially in our line of work. For now, I wish nothing but to live in my fantasies, where blood no longer stains my hooves like finger paint and under my arm you lie, sleeping, not avoiding me like most nurses do. Do you fear me, Sweetheart? Am I what scares you the most? I hear other hospital workers talk of me, whispers in the hallway, gossip at lunch, my name bit of a curse.
I fear for the day when you realize the wretchedness of ponykind, and the familiar light leaves your eyes forever. And things won't be the same, I know they won't, but maybe I'll continue to view you in the same light even if you don't. Perhaps if somepony didn't think of you as a monster as they did to me when my light dimmed, didn't shun you, your light would remain for an eternity. It would finally remind me of warmth once more, and maybe ponies wouldn't take shelter from my name anymore.
But if not, perhaps we can become Coldhearted together.