Discl.: No ownage C:
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~*Full Moon*~
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the moon shines
high above the tree tops
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You love the moon.
It is such because you imagine her to be a young, fair lady with an air of dignity and it is in your nature to adore such ladies. And the Moon Lady deserves much love and adoration even if she's just a fruit of your imagination.
Sometimes when night's fallen and there's nothing to do and the moon shines in your face, you start thinking. You start imagining your Moon Lady.
She would be around your age. Her hair would be the pure white of the moon's rays over the water's surface and would curl gracefully around her oval face. Her skin would be a milky complexion that rivals the colour of snow, of milk (you don't know but in one secluded corner of the Earth Kingdom, they tell the story of a young maiden whose skin is whiter than snow…).
She would be dressed in an amazing white-blue gown, long and perfect and feminine and so utterly beautiful and the fabric would ripple against her lithe body when she dances to a rhythm only she and the ocean can understand.
During the nights when you feel lazy, you have the habit of sitting next to a window and looking out to the sea and, hung above it, like a glittering jewel in ink, the moon. It's interesting how it will always shine bright here, on your and Sokka's little island where your house is, despite moon phases and everything else. Oh, yes, it will always shine and bathe everything in its soft silver light, painting monochrome pictures you can't help but smile at. The palms will look like statues, made from precious metals and the beach will look as if it's ripped from the romance story Sokka once told you (about living and dying and holding on sotighttighttight it hurts).
One thing that you are sad for is that Sokka never comes to sit next to you during such amazing moments. When the moon is full and high in the night sky, he is either off sleeping or inventing something again. You would have been hurt if you hadn't noticed that maybe, maybe he is sad, devastated even and is constantly reminded of this failure of his by the moon.
(but even then, when you understand, you're still hurt that he doesn't want to confide anything to you)
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One night, however, he comes over.
Usually, he would sit next to you and make a comment which would make you blush and giggle and hit him at the back of his head, or gather you in his arms which would turn you into a pool of goo and would remind you why you fell in love with him. But tonight he does none of the sort and just leans on the windowsill, looks out to the moon and smiles a little (the first time you wonder if he's finally grown up).
You decide that he doesn't need any words and no matter how much you want to learn what's on him mind, he isn't ready to tell that to anyone and you will only be making stupid mistakes if you start nagging him for that.
Some time passes, measured only by the path the moon takes, going for the horizon to disappear. Only when it is finally gone from the sky, leaving you two in darkness, does he finally turn towards you and say almost dreamily:
"I love watching the moon."
You instantly agree with him because it's not like you've sat so many nights watching the moon because you hate it.
"It's so relaxing when I do so, you know," he continues on, maybe talking to you, maybe talking to himself, or maybe not even acknowledging he talks at all, "when I look up at it and its light… it calms me down. It helps me think."
You smile and wholeheartedly agree with him and then, in a fit of inspiration, tell him all that you've imagined. You stand up and show with actions what you mean, all the while explaining to him in an enthusiastic tone while he sits back and grins as he listens (it's strange that you've changed roles – it's usually you who sits calmly and watch him as he excitedly shows some invention of his). You twirl and twirl and twirl and tell him that you're a little bit jealous of the moon because she is such an awesome lady, because she can do badass things like control the ocean and light up the night while you are just a little human, unable to do anything and the moon and the ocean will be together for all eternity and for an eternity will they dance and never stop and you'll never understand it, not that you really have to and you're rambling and you really should stop but you can't–
He stops you by jumping at you and tickling you until you can barely breathe.
He grins just like a Sokka should grin and leads you into a dance whose rhythm only you two can understand.
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You make it a habit to sit there, with him, kissing or not, talking or not, laughing or not, but always enjoying each other's presence. You want to show him that you care for him, that you can share the burden but you know you have to be patient with him.
Like the moon.
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the moon shines
up above my head
peeking through the window
looking at him