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

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[bg=351c1c][atrb=width,450px,true;][atrb=border,0,true;][atrb=cellspacing,0,true;][atrb=cellpadding,0,true;][atrb=style, border-top-right-radius: 100px; border-bottom-left-radius:100px; padding: 29px 30px 35px 30px; background-image: url('http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/Shinieeeee/CristobalHead_zps6708d1ba.png'); background-position: center top; background-repeat: no-repeat; border-top: 1px solid #000000; border-left: 1px solid #000000; border-right: 1px solid #000000; border-bottom: 1px solid #000000;] cristobal rahyen corcoran wise men say only fools rush in but i can't help falling in love with you shall i stay would it be a sin if i can't help falling in love with you - (i can't help)falling in love by elvis presley (ingrid michaelson cover) The song that echoess from Belle's violin is both morose and lighthearted, but it does sooth the demons spirits visitors around me. The moment her bow touches the low notes, time seems to move slow as if the forest want to savor the beautiful note, and the voices disappear. The spirits that torment my life seem to pause to hear her play, to let her music fill their damned souls with happiness and sometimes sadness. But in this moment the persecuted and I are one where we all look at her with an admiration that is only worthy for a god like creature, and she is one. A god that follows a blemish in the white cloth of humanity. I do not deserve her music. I do not deserve her company. And most of all I do not deserve her because I am the most wicked of all people. I am the most unworthy of all, but she stayed with me. Even after I spoke of my sins to her. Suddenly the sky dims to the color of my eyes, and I realize that not only did her piece sway the dead, but also the bright sea above. The wind begins to howl with sorrow. I know that the earth trembled with me, as the notes start to rise then fall, and thunder crackles from the sky. The muscles in my throat tighten, so does my jaws. The beauty of this tragic music only begins to overcome me. I have heard this tune a thousand times from her instrument, and also a thousand times this feeling influenced me. There is something in me that changes the moment her bow touches the stings, and they produce the delicate harmony. The waters start to run down my eyes. My fingers begin to shake, and my knees start loosing its strength. The emotions of this song is beginning to affect my entire being. I have got to be strong. Never show that side Cristobal. Never. Unlike me, the skies have nothing to hide, so it began to weep. First in a light shower, then it starts to pour heavily. My head twist right to left searching for a tiny shelter or maybe a tall tree, but still she continues to play as if everything isn't covered with the sadness of the clouds or the sorrow of the spirits. I can not believe that the torrent does not bother her one bit, but it does not bother me either, then I just stand there, cherishing every ups and downs of her arm. The way her body would synchronize with the movements of her arm. She is perfect. I know that sickness does not spare perfection, but it attacks it twice as hard as it would to an average human, so my . Propitiously, my eyes recognize a pothole covered with vines and over grown moss just a few meters away from where she stands. Feet carrying my body to where she stands with a god-like aura radiating from her body, but then I see her up close looking more like a mere mortal. Her hair is drenched, and her clothes stuck to her skin. How could something so godly look so human? My hand grabs the edge of her elbow and swiftly guide her to the cave, passing through tall trees and a few wandering spirits. The moment her song was crudely cancelled, the spirits began a loud cacophony of voices. It is a surprise that I could still think through the uproar all around me. Somehow I know that it is Belle that is keeping me sane, that is why I have to protect her even from the sky's tears of sorrow. That she was what's kept my feet on the ground for two years. And I plan on keeping it that way for some more years to come. Finally, we make it to the cave. Scratches and dirt cover my legs, but now I know she could be safe. "Belle, you'll be safer in here. While I go out and grab some firewood to warm us up." But the truth is, I didn't want her to see me break.

[arx]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 000000; -webkit-border-radius:80px 0px 20px 80px; width:500px] If you be my boat, I'll be your sea The depth of pure blue just to probe curiosity Ebbing and flowing and pushed by a breeze I live to make you free, I live to make you free 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? But you can set sail to the west if you want to And past the horizon till I can't even see you Far from here where the beaches are wide Just leave me your wake to remember you by

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[bg=351c1c][atrb=width,500px,true;][atrb=border,0,true;][atrb=cellspacing,0,true;][atrb=cellpadding,0,true;][atrb=style, border-top-right-radius: 100px; border-bottom-left-radius:100px; padding: 140px 30px 30px 30px; background-image: url('http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/Shinieeeee/CrisHead_zpsd9f36619.png'); background-position: center top; background-repeat: no-repeat; border-top: 1px solid #000000; border-left: 1px solid #000000; border-right: 1px solid #000000; border-bottom: 1px solid #000000;] Cristobal Rahyen Corcoran her hands are so cold, and he kisses her face and says, “everything will be all right." he noticed the gun, and his rage grew inside. he said, “i’ll avenge my lover tonight”. and she cried "kiss it all better, i’m not ready to go. it’s not your fault love, you didn’t know, you didn’t know." - kiss it all better by he is we

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The forest holds lot of secrets. Secrets that everyone though died with the people who made them, decomposing under the earth with worms eating them away, but what the they didn't know is that the people aren't gone, their bodies may have turned to soil, but their spirits are free to wander wherever they want. Free to disturb anyone they want without having to face the consequences, and free to whisper their secrets to anyone that pleases them. There was this one spirit that struck me the most -- not because of the hole on his chest, but because of his tragic tale. I would never forget that day because he wind carried so much voices that I almost went deaf, but he was the only on who I saw. I asked his help and with a snap of his fingers the voices died down. The skies slowly turned gray and the trees all swayed to the wind. I was speechless -- how could one single spirit control all this when the others are much bigger -- soon I found out that the source of his power was the burden he carried, even after death.

His story began with a girl, so beautiful that the sun and the stars would bow at her beauty. He said her smile would drive away the darkest of clouds. She, in short, was a very beautiful girl, and like every love story, they were together. He used to love the mornings, the silhouette of the girl beside her would be the first thing he would see. Her sweet scent would be the first thing he smelled, and her soft lips would be the first thing he would feel. remember a smile creep into his sorrowful face. For a second I thought he would laugh at the memory, but he controlled his face and continued his tale. He told me of the afternoons he spent with her at the district square where they had picnics. The time he decided to go back into writing a book, but everything he would write about was his experiences with he girl. I do remember a smile on my face listening to his tale. Ever since I was little I already had high respects to the people who can speak eloquently, partly because I envy them and also because they speak in such conviction. That was the reason I listened to him, no only was his story interesting but it was also because I could feel his emotions.

Then he reached the less joyful part, he remembered it was a bright and sunny day like every other day he spent with the girl. He clearly remembered that on the news they talked about an escaped convict on the streets of their district. He barely acknowledged the report because he knew that the pk might catch him soon, so they went for a walk. Sadly, they strayed to far from the crowd of people -- if they didn't they could have avoided the incident -- they went for a picnic close to the edge of the district. Suddenly a man comes out from behind the tree, and in his hand was a pistol. The man points it at the girl as says "You can't catch me." then he pulls he trigger. The sound echoed through the whole district, which caught the Peace Keepers attention. Unfortunately, he got away but what the PKs did catch was him hugging the limp body of the girl. Blood gushing out from her forehead where the man shot her. As he said those the skies darkened above me, and my eyes were foggy from the tears. I could feel his sadness, then shortly after he told me the story I met Belle, and I swore we would never end that way. hat I would always protect her -- better I die than her, because a world without her music is a world not worth living in.

Turning away from her, I look at the distance. The pouring rain beating on the poor animals -- at least Belle and I have shelter. Thinking about the rain, my jaw tightens and my fist curls into a ball. I know I can protect her from this rain, and maybe more, but I don't know how long I could protect her. What if I can't protect her from turning insane, it's only been the two of us for two whole years, what would it be like after ten years, fifteen? I wouldn't stay young forever. I know some day I will grow weathered and weak, what happens then? My teeth chews on my cheeks as all these problems wrap itself around my mind. Suddenly, warm arms wrap around my ways, and I felt calm. I could worry about those when it happens, not now, not when I'm with her. With her body pressed against mine, I remember the mornings I wake up to her sweet voice, the nights where she would play her violin till I fall into slumber, her laugh whenever I would fall into the river every time I try to catch a fish.

These little things will be engraved onto my mind and my heart.

"I actually don't think we need a fire."

But you need the warmth to keep your from getting sick.

"We'll get dry."

But you'll catch a cold.

"Cris, what's wrong? You can tell me, you know."

I do. But I could never let you worry. That's my job, not yours. My head looks to the cave floor covered in green moss. I could feel her breathing on my back, her breath kissing my shoulders. I wish everything could be this easy. My body turns towards her, arms throwing itself around her body. I hold her tight and close my eyes.

"Nothing. But it would pain me to see you get sick. I don't know what I would do if I lose you Belle."

I say with tears streaming down my face, because in my mind the picture of the boy clutching the girl was there, but the difference was that it was me and Belle, and she was lifeless. "It will happen soon," says the spirit next to me.

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