You see her when you close your eyes;
Maybe one day you'll understand why;
Everything you touch surely dies
Let Her Go, by Passenger
You've been b/r\o/k\e/n, dear.
B/r\o/k\e/n
)Hollow(
Empty
Because *she* isn't there anymore, dear.
The *darling*
The child
The little girl who nevernevernever should have been ^killed^
How old was she?
Twelve, dear.
12twelve12
Is that fair, do you think, dear?
Twelve and dead.
I know what you've been thinking.
It should have been you.
Are you sure, dear?
Do you just want to (die)?
What's the answer?
We all know, dear.
It should've been you.
"Haymitch, I can't do this."
Haymitch rested his head in his hands, wishing for his usual comfort of oblivion. It was easy to drink and have his world fade away as usual. But this girl, this teenager, this victor, this Katniss, wouldn't let him.
"Then make an actual try. I told you to write a poem and get it out of your system, not write about how you want to kill yourself. Just get it out."
"Get it out? Get my feelings out? Haymitch, if you aren't aware, twenty two children died less than a month ago. A twelve year old girl among them. You expect me to just 'get it out'? Forget Rue? How do I forget?"
He slammed his fist onto the table, startling them both. "Listen, sweetheart, I've had my own share of people to forget. You think I don't know what you've gone through? You think I haven't lost people like Rue?"
She looked down. "No." After a pause: "How do you forget?"
"You don't."
Even Katniss didn't expect this answer from Haymitch.
"You remember every detail about them. Write it down, write a poem about it, paint it on your door. Don't let a single part of them slip away."
"I'd be reminded of them every single second. I'd practically see them. I don't want to remember how it was my fault. I can't just write sweet, cheerful poems about them, it's like dancing on their graves."
"If you remember them, it's like putting flowers on their graves."
He opened his desk drawer, motioning Katniss off the top. Curious, she saw him pull out a piece of paper.
"This was mine."
Katniss read, and thought, and wondered how she had been so wrong about her mentor.
A thousand years.
Is that how long it takes?
To forget?
No, never forget. Never forget her.
May is what you called her.
May- the most beautiful month of the year.
Even a bitter, scarred boy can't help noticing that.
May
Si
Lee
Maysilee Donner.
My biggest mistake,
Falling in love with her.
I was wrong to fall in love
But she was too.
We were wrong together.
It's amazing how wrong two people can be.
May
Si
Lee
Maysilee Donner.
Gold and silver at the same time.
Golden hair, silver eyes, golden mind, silver dreams.
She was perfect.
May
Si
Lee
Maysilee Donner.
My biggest mistake?
No, my silver-gold piece of perfection.
A thousand years to forget?
No, a thousand years to stop forgetting.
To honor.
To keep.
To remember.
"Maysilee?"
Haymitch nodded. "I'll never forget her, and I never want to. If I remember her, it's like she's still with me."
"That's a curse."
"It's a blessing. It's not haunting, it's guiding."
Katniss looked at the poem again. "I didn't know you could write poems."
"I wrote it after I just won. I'm an old man now, and I don't have enough left of her to remember. I can't preserve her anymore."
"Don't you want to?"
Haymitch sighed. "More than anything, but I can't. I'm dried up now, sweetheart. Memory, faith, words, everything."
His hands, curled like cold, sad, dead things in his lap, shook Katniss to her decision.
"You're going to remember her. I'm going to remember Rue. We're going to be..."
"Wrong together." He allowed his tribute a grudging look of approval. "You sure you're as good with words as you are with arrows, Fire Girl?"
"I can try."
It was relieving to be wrong together, after so long of trying to be right.
Rue.
Maysilee.
Pieces of perfection.
Little bird at the top of the tree
Gold and silver month of May
With them, it's okay to be wrong together.
Wings to fly around the treetops
Resourceful, clever, beautiful girl
A thousand years to forget?
Don't forget the little bird who sang so sweetly.
Don't forget the girl who could do so much more than they let her.
A thousand years to remember.
Dear?
Sweetheart?
Dear to our hearts.
Don't stop remembering.
Never forget.
A thousand years to lay flowers on their graves.
A thousand years to plant Rue flowers.
A thousand years to plant the flowers that grow in May.
Rue.
Maysilee.
If we were wrong, we were wrong together.