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❝why is it, that when the story ends, ❞
❝ we begin to feel it all? ❞
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LIFE MOVES ON. IT ALWAYS DOES, DOESN'T IT? THERE IS NEVER A LAST GOODBYE, NO RUNNING AFTER EACH OTHER AT THE TRAIN STATION, AND NO LOVE DECLARATION. I try to convince myself I'm glad that I can be back in Twelve, surrounded by those who love me. Yet, I can't help but dwindle on moments spent with Cato Hadley.
When I first saw his imposing figure through the televised screen, I knew he was deemed to be my enemy. Someone to be ruthlessly destroyed. I thought he was arrogant, murderous, a merciless killing machine. If only I knew. He unlocked a flame in my heart that I didn't even know existed.
But not all stories have a good ending, right? That's life, and you just have to get over it. Though it's easier said than done.
At night, I long for a reassuring touch when I'm faced with my pent up demons. No one ever really talks about the suffocating trauma that inks your soul permanently during the games. No one warns you that death will sliver through your window and invade your dreams.
The one good thing about my district is that no sort of camera can peek into my life. I'm free, more or less.
I reside in the Victor's Village now, Haymitch at my side. It's lonely, the autumn breeze caressing my skin deep. I visit him at times, and, in my bag, I have a stack of letters, all destined to Cato. I can't bring myself to send them, can't commence a one sided communication.
Sometimes, I let myself head to the roof and peer up at my home. My damaged, destroyed home where Peace Keepers roam. I see myself, letting laughs seep loudly out my lips, twirling between saplings and attempting to forget it all. In vain.
My bones are cracked and liquid flows around my veins, desperate to be cleaned off. I feel their blood on my lips, sticking to my skin, unable to fade with time.
Tragedy kisses me with sweet passion. And so will he.
