Joryn Looked Up

Joryn always felt close to his mother. When he was just a roly-poly, jelly bean-sized joey, he crawled across her fur to her pouch, weaving through her warmth and savoring her sweet smell.
As he grew bigger, Joryn learned to hop and talk and explore, but he never strayed far from his mother.
Every morning, she licked Joryn’s face to wake him, whispered “I love you” in his ear, and hummed a light tune.
Every day, Joryn bounced out of his mother’s pouch to graze and gallivant around the grassland.
Every evening as the sun dipped below the horizon, Joryn curled up tight in his mother’s dark pouch.
Whenever Joryn was settling into her pouch, he would look at her and quietly ask “Momma, what do you love?”
She always had the same answer. “I love the sky and the grass, the sun and the sun and the stars. I love the wind, especially on hot days. But most of all, I love you.”
“What do you love, Joryn?” she would ask in return.
But no matter how long Joryn thought, no matter how hard he strained his brain, he only ever had one answer.
“Just you.”
Then, he would bury his head back in the pouch, push his floppy ear against her soft belly, and fall asleep to the steady sound of her heartbeat—thump-thump, thump-thump.
One day, something changed…