Five months, two weeks, four days, and one hour. That's how long ago you came back without her. You keep track obsessively, as if there is a way to reverse the clock, to save her. But you can't. If there was any way to, she would be there with you by now.
You almost joined her. The canine bite-shaped scars lacing your arms, covering almost every inch of your skin, remind you of this fact. You would have welcomed it. You were looking forward to being with her again. But it wasn't meant to be... You were home, forced to pretend you're okay, before you were reunited. But after a week, you lost it. You can't keep that up any longer...
After that, you leave a letter in her mailbox every day. You know she'll never get them, but you can't help yourself. This attempted communication makes everything seem a bit less real. It always says the same thing, written in a different color ink for the main emotion behind it. Red, for the anger towards the circumstances, yourself, or once, towards her for leaving you. Blue, for the bitter, lonely sadness she has left you in. Green, for the jealousy you feel towards the fact that she is in a better place, that she's happy now, while you stay behind, only ever thinking of her. Almost always, your already messy writing is smeared with heavy, freely-flowing tears.
'Come back, Clove. Please come back... I miss you so much... I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.'
You are called back to the place where it all happened a year after you lost her. Again, you welcome this. You don't try to win a second time. You purposely get into a fight with another tribute, and loose intentionally. But you don't mind. Because you know that you'll be with her in a minute.
As you lay on the beach, starting to feel dizzy and weak from blood loss, you whisper to her one more time...
"Im coming, Clove. I love you."