She always said that my calloused hands were what made her feel the safest. The way they held her face when we kissed, or grabbed her core intensely in training. She loved the feeling of my finger tips brushing against her cheeks, or pushing their way over the hem of her pants. "They represent your experience", she would say as we carelessly entwined our hands, "it makes me feel safe."
Her kindness made me the bravest. Nothing was ever too big for me to overcome knowing that her compassion outweighed any feat. If she could do it, stay kind in the unkindest of situations, then I could stay strong in the scariest. I may only have four fears, but there were plenty of things that scared me. She was one of them. Her well being, resilience and gratitude were some others. She was incredibly easy to let in, to fall for. I didn't want it to be possible, let alone easy. Because I knew. I knew that if I opened up, I'd get hurt. And I did.
I hate my hands. The way she hated her compassion. Neither one kept the other safe in the end. Neither one kept the other brave. I lost her. To bravery, to courage, selflessness and kindness. I lost her. I couldn't keep her safe. I couldn't protect her, and for that I hate myself. I hate her kindness, her love, her strength. If she had been mean, filled with hate and weak, I would still have her. I would still be with her. But it wouldn't be her. Not the girl I love. Not my Tris.
That bears a heavy question then doesn't it? Who do we choose if given the chance? The existence of someone we hate or the death of someone we love? I would give almost anything to see her one more time. Anything but one. Her. I cannot give her. She is not mine to give. I cannot trade her spirit for her life, or her empathy for her decision. She is who she is and she is who I fell in love with. She is who I lost, who I love, who I chose. She is in me, in my breath, in my thoughts. She is in my hands. She is my safety now. My courage, my strength, my reason to live.
She is selfless. She is brave.
She is Beautiful.