'Believe that life is worth living and your belief will help create the fact,' - William James.
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IT IS COLD OUT. The night has come with a crisp blanket settling over nature's crevices. The ground has turned moist and soft, with frosty particles illuminated by the prestigious moon.
Soft footsteps intercept my mournful thoughts before a warm blanket falls over my shoulders to expel the cold that slowly seeps into my bones. Leisurely, Xavier takes place beside me to watch the midnight moon journey over the sky.
His voice is still thick with the sleep he has been deprived of by my absence, "The bed felt empty."
"I couldn't sleep," I speak sincerely, not tearing my gaze from the moon. I find it intriguing how the current moon seems to reflect my mood. The white opaque color does not quite reach its full potential, like it has been deprived of its grandeur by the small but tenacious clouds that refuse to yield.
"Full moon?" He questions upon realizing what holds my attention.
I smile by his perception, entertained that an observant person like Xavier can't seem to see the moon is not yet at its peak.
Following the outline of the moon, it is easy to understand his confusion. To the human eye, it appears full, when in reality it is still ascending.
"Not yet, not tonight," I enlighten him and he leans back on his hands, letting the silence wash over us, filling us with its insuring calmness.
"Would you still love me if I was human?" I utter into the night, the air around my words turning into a puff of white fog.
"You think I only love you because you're a lycan?" He glances over at me, before turning his attention back to the moon, though I know he is no longer seeing it.
I inhale, letting the chilly air coat my lungs, before turning to look at him.
"You're not turning human, Davina. Your eyes are still just as glowing and breathtaking like the first time I saw how the moon blessed you," he states slowly and I have to look away from him when I remember the effect the mid cycle has on my appearance, however Xavier softly places his finger under my chin to hold my gaze.
"But note this, I would love you even if you were nothing but a leaf," he answers with a wry sincere smile.
I bite my lips in thought, letting my fingers ghost his callous knuckles. The dry torn skin a symbol of the manual labor he gladly endures for us to live this life remote from everything and everyone.
"Maybe there's a reason you couldn't find anything in those books. Perhaps that's why I don't know of it either, because there isn't anything to know."
