I stop walking and Chessa stops with me, her neck arching and bringing her big, brown eyes low and close to my own. I rub the plane of her face, her cheeks, and up behind her ears. Her breath puffs out across my face, warm and grassy. Peaceful. The tears that I held back all the way to the house are rolling down my cheeks, dripping to patters in the dusty ground. I wrap my arms around her neck and bury my face in the sleek muscles. She is the only one I could ever do this with, and I swear she leans into me, her head over my shoulder, hugging me back. Chessa has heard my stories all too often. She knows my pathetic murmuring probably by heart, all my little broken-heart jealousies, all my woe-isme-isms. She knows them all, and yet she never tells me to suck it up. She just wraps her neck over me and lets me melt into her. How I wish I were somebody else. Anybody else.
Horses, I think, are the best confidants in the world. -- Alison Hayes, Intoxic