A river~flows~surely to the(sea) | Belle(arx)

Two years. I have talked to no one but that boy for two whole years. I'm not even sure I know what another human being looks like anymore. All I know is him. And I've come to appreciate everything about him. The tiniest things aren't so tiny anymore. Tiny details that someone who glances at him might miss or overlook are larger than life to me. The way his hair curls at his ears when it grows longer, soft and silky to the touch and making him look that much more innocent. The way he watches my lips when I talk and seems to focus his entire being on just my lips and nothing else, like my words mean more to him than anything else I have. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles on the rare days he does smile. The way his hands feel on my skin, somehow so soft despite calluses dotting his palms. Such smalls things to everyone else and yet such large details to me. I guess that's what two years does to you. You appreciate the things that no one else can see and find yourself searching for them each time you see that person. Waiting for his teeth to peek out from beneath his lips and then that small occasional chuckle that follows ... Everything about him makes me smile. I know others may think that I am just being naïve, that I think all these things about him are perfect because I haven't known anything but him for so long, but the point is, I think all his imperfections are perfect. Secrets make us who we are. Some are horrifying, some not so much, some may seem to be nonexsistent, but as my mom and dad always told me, everyone has their secrets. And even knowing some of his secrets, I haven't run away or cringed in fear, but grasped them and held on tight, kissing each of them softly and holding them like they were my own.

My secrets reveal themselves through the strings on my violin. I play so often now-a-days that I'm certain every bird and tree and rock and cloud must know every bit of me as they soak in the notes that cascade from the strings. I don't have any secrets I keep from the trees and birds and rocks and clouds anymore. Really, if anyone cared to listen they could hear and feel my heart pouring out as my arm rises and falls, the bow gliding effortlessly over the strings, a stream of sorrowful notes escaping into the air. Anyone who would care to listen would know my story. But does anyone ever hear that tree fall in the woods? No. But I know he hears. I don't even have to say anything, don't have to explain, I just have to play and he hears. Listens. I can see it in his face when I glance around to see if some new audience has showed up maybe my parents will magically reappear? and my eyes fall on him, always listening, always watching, always hearing and understanding. But then I have to close my eyes again because unless I am lost in the melody and the notes I don't feel the emotion behind it. And I want to. I want to feel that pain. Because once it's out in the open and I have endured all I can endure, it sort of melts away for awhile and I can feel like my old 11 year old self again.

That's why I don't even notice the rain until I feel Cris grab me by the elbow, my hair stuck to my face and my clothes sticking to my body. My violin falls to my side as I start to run with him, looking to escape the downpour that continues to beat down upon us. Are you really that disappointed in me, Mom? Was my playing so horrible you had to make it rain on me, Dad? When I finally make it to the cave I am shivering, my legs scratched and my heart beating wildly, tiny drops of rain dripping down my spine and small puddles forming at my feet. I glance around, looking for a place to sit, or curl up, or lie down, or play again, or something but instead I just breathe, standing in the opening of the cave, watching the rain pour down. I can hear the distant boom of thunder, like the beat of the timpani. It feels like the trees and the rocks and the birds and the clouds (however angry and gray they look) want me to play again. Like somehow my secrets intrigue them. But instead I can only manage to give a heavy sigh, setting my violin on the ground and trying to brush away the droplets of water on my face with my already soaking wet sleeve.

"Belle, you'll be safer in here. While I go out and grab some firewood to warm us up." I turn to him now, standing ahead of me, where I can't see his face. His hair hangs in his face and his shirt clings to his body, just as mine does. His words make me shiver, goosebumps rising on my skin as a breeze blows through the cave. I can't stay here alone. I've been alone for too long before. But I don't say that, not to him. I can handle a few minutes alone - I'm a grown up now, not a 12 year old. So all I say is, "Okay." before falling silent again, throwing my bow onto the ground beside my violin. But the when I look again just a moment later, I can see it isn't okay. The way he stands, the way his eyes look into the distance, the way his muscles ripple under his skin, and the way his face scrunches in concentration tells me - it's not okay. I leave the puddle at my feet and go to join his, walking up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his shoulder blade. "I actually don't think we need a fire." I say, mumbling against his shoulder. "We'll get dry." When he stays silent, I slink under his arm, keeping my arms around his waist, looking u at him, that tortured look in his eyes. "Cris, what's wrong?" I smile because I don't know what else to do, pulling my arms from his waist and grabbing his hands. "You can tell me, you know." I stare into his eyes then, my face sombering. I want to help him.

He's the only person I have left. What would I do without him, all alone again?