Yellow.
Whenever I think of Peeta Mellark, I see yellow.
Blond hair falling in waves over his forehead.
The first dandelion of the spring the day after he gave me bread.
The gold locket he gave me on a sandy beach during the Quarter Quell.
Even the golden crusts of the loaves he bakes.
Everything Peeta does is yellow.
I never used to care for yellow. Prior to the Games, my favorite color had always been green. The color of the woods. In my mind, green signifies survival, because the woods afforded me with the opportunity of feeding my family.
My taste in colors has since changed.
I am watching Peeta deftly swirl his paintbrush, blending blue and yellow acrylics together, when it hits me.
Just as a painter needs yellow in order to make green, so do I need Peeta in order to survive.
If not for Peeta, I would have starved to death at eleven years of age. I would have never hunted in the woods, never befriended Gale, never volunteered as tribute in Prim's stead, never made it out of that tree and away from the Careers alive, never conquered the demons that haunted my nightmares for months after the war ended.
If not for Peeta, I would have never known what it is like to love and be loved. To truly live, not just survive.
I murmur to myself, "Yellow comes first, then the green."
I glance down at the golden band that graces my left ring finger, then at Peeta's matching one.
Now I know:
I may like green.
…But I would die for yellow.
[Inspired by the song "Yellow" by Coldplay.]