heliophilia

(n.) desire to stay in the sun; love of sunlight

***

I sit on the back porch.

It's something I gravitate towards now for some reason.

I'm not doing anything.

No painting.

Just sitting and staring at the sky and the swaying clouds that pass overby.

I turn at the sound of the opening door and see Sandra walk out, the familiar smile on her face.

"Here Luna, I thought you would like some Hot coco."

I nod and gratefully accept the warmth.

Sandra stands next to me, her head raised as she takes in the sky with me.

"What's so interesting about the clouds Luna?"

I grow thoughtful over that.

"I guess...I envy them."

Sandra laughs at that and I smile. She sits down next to me, "You envy clouds?"

"Don't you?"

A doubtful expression grows on Sandra's face, "I don't know what the clouds have that I should envy."

I look up, taking in the white forms. I don't know if I saw them as beautiful or not. Maybe they were scenic, but I always thought them hard to paint.

"Floating along...going wherever the breeze takes them," I reach my hand up, mimicking like I could touch the cotton like forms that hung, suspended in the sky, "You can reach out and try to grab them, but you can never grasp it."

I turn at the sound of Sandra laughing. She stands, shaking her head, "Luna, you are full of strange thoughts."

I blush, suddenly embarrassed at my weird rants about clouds.

I give Sandra a small smile, "I guess."

She shakes her head, still laughing as she walks away, leaving me clinging to my hot coco.

I sigh and place a hand on my chest, taking in the nervous beat that was jolting my heart.

Maybe it was better if I stayed silent.

My role as Luna could be just a quiet support for Atlas. But maybe it was better if I didn't speak.

I look back up at the clouds and sigh.

There could be something wrong with me.

Wolves didn't think like this.

They didn't paint or spout meaningless philosophical words about clouds.

They hunted and trained, and stayed within a pack.

I gasp though when a sudden thought hits me.

I'm not a wolf.

My wolf is buried in my mind.

She isn't there, shaping and molding my thoughts- making me see the world through a double point of view.

It's just me.

I don't have an animal instinct.

I don't even have that urge to go out and fight, to hunt down the evil that has been stalking me.

I cling to my hot coco, letting the burning warmth on my hand bring me back to reality as I suddenly realize why I'm apart from everyone.

I suddenly start to laugh.

An unknown pressure, a weight that I can't quite see, but that has always been silently there- has been lifted.

"What's funny?"

I whirl around, smiling when I take in Atlas.

He smiles back and sits down next to me, claiming Sandra's empty spot.

"I've just realized something."

"Mmh?"

I explain to Atlas my theory, excitement leaking into my voice.

He watches me, those blue eyes thoughtful as he takes me in.

"Interesting."

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't.

"This explains everything."

He looks up at the sky, watching the clouds.

"I don't know."

I pause, shock fixing me in place as I watch him.

"What do you mean?"

He continues to stare at the clouds. Without a word though, I watch as Atlas pulls out a small notebook from the pocket of his jacket.

I take it, curious as to what he is showing me.

I feel the leather cover, taking in the worn down pages. He carries this with him.

Opening to the middle I squint when I see words scrawled in black ink.

I gasp though, when I realize what he is showing me.

Poetry.

Words.

His words.

Atlas wrote.

"This...this is..."

Atlas snatches the small journal from my hand. I stare blankly at the empty cold that fills in it's place.

I had only read a few lines. But those few lines were enough to let me know.

I watch as Atlas stands, but I quickly grab the hem of his jacket, for some reason desperate now. Because I know now there is a similarity between us.

"Atlas what was that?"

He looks down at me and sighs, before glancing wearily around. I realize he is making sure that no one is watching.

He sits back down, this time whispering as he says, "When my father was sick...I needed something to vent to. So I started to write. But I liked it. So I wrote more. I...I burned the books though whenever I was done with them. So no one from the pack would see."

My heart constricts at the thought of Atlas burning away his beautiful words.

I couldn't even imagine doing that to my paintings.

"Are you ashamed of it?" I whisper.

He hesitates. I know he is not answering for my sake, but to my surprise he smiles, "Not anymore."

I smile back at him, and slowly reach around for the small journal that is in his hands.

"Please?"

The question lingers in the air.

He sighs and, slowly, hesitantly, hands the journal to me.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He smiles, but I can see some pain within it.

Part of me wants to give it back to him. Another part of me is trembling at how bold I am. But then there was that last part. That larger part, that wanted to read more of his words.

He gets up, leaving me there alone on the porch.

I look at the journal, the temptation so great to read what was in it right in that moment.

But I wait.

Slowly, I tuck the small treasure in my coat pocket and sigh.

Looking back up at the clouds and taking sips of hot coco.

To all you 'Moon Child' readers- does anyone remember chapter 37 of 'Moon Chid'? ;)

You caught a peek of Atlas's writing in that chapter.