[open] You say it best when you say nothing at all; any

[Persea]

All of the voices inside of my mind will never be silenced

She wishes earnestly things were so easy to explain to him. The way he apologizes for embarrassing her sends a flush of chagrin through her. She had not meant to make him question himself. But how does one explain that the beauty is not truly her? That she had not actually been born so fair of feature? She doesn’t think she had been ugly, it’s true, but neither would she have been likely to garner the same attention she now seems to.

“Please don’t apologize,” she pleads softly, her eyes lifting to find his, the sincerity in them unmistakable. “You did nothing wrong.”

The explanation of his current situation follows so immediately on the heels of his last thoughts that anyone who hadn’t been used to such things might find it disconcerting. As it is, Persea had long ago become so accustomed to following the fleeting trails of thought and gymnastic leaps the mind could make that it does not even occur to her to find such things odd. And with his matter of fact thoughts echoing in her own mind, the sea-green of her eyes warms to a richer, sympathetic hue.

“You could never be a burden,” she replies swiftly, her voice firm with her resolution. She understands burdens, but his presence is the very least of them. She peers at him for a long moment, as though her very stare could will into him the confidence she wished to instill. But as his thoughts turn to the offer she had made, his willingness so apparent, she eases, a smile touching her lips as her eyes jump briefly in the direction of Tephra.

“Of course!” her voice brightens as she accepts his suggestion, the lure of the ocean stronger now that she had successfully gained his companionship. She settles beside him, choosing to move at a comfortable, conversational pace so that they might continue developing their budding friendship.

His next question causes her to glance away, though she does a much better job this time of containing her abashedness. It takes her a moment to find the right words (as though anything she said would truly be enough to adequately express the foreign nature of it). “I…” she hesitates, brow furrowing as she peers intently ahead of her. “That is to say, it’s not really me.” She pauses before clarifying, “This face, it’s not… the one I was born with.”

until I can find a way to let go of what we left behind

persea