It's late at night and the stars are out, twinkling little sparkles in the night sky. I can see them clearly tonight. It brings a little smile to my face.
Peeta's asleep inside the house and though I usually hate leaving his arms, tonight's an exception. The memorial isn't very far away, anyways. I'll be back before he even knows I've left.
The streets are empty as they usually are at this time of night. A few street lamps are flickering on and off. After the rebellion, things improved in most Districts but since everything is having to be rebuilt in District 12, it's taking longer to get many innovations put into place.
We created the memorial a couple years ago. Some people thought it was a biased idea: after all, a lot more people than the ones represented in the memorial died because of the Capitol. For me, though, it meant so much. I insisted that Peeta and Haymitch make it a community project. Though not very many families that survived from District 12 returned, the ones who did happily obliged.
After a few minutes of quiet walking along the street, I arrive at the meadow. The fence is one of the few things that's been improved. There's even a small gate, right where Gale and I used to sneak into the forest through the weak spot in the fence.
The memorial is small. If one was simply walking by it, they probably wouldn't notice it; but for people like myself, and Peeta, and Haymitch...we know exactly where to find it.
I kneel down, like I always do, and look over the display: it consists of lovely primroses and an assortment of other flowers, assembled in the shape of a Mockingjay, along with a golden trident leaning up against a plaque. The plaque has few words, but they're powerful.
My head lowers as I begin to think over the three people who are represented at this memorial.
Rue. Sweet, innocent Rue. The girl who symbolizes the injustice of the Hunger Games. She was placed in the arena and, against all the odds, survived for longer than many expected. She became my trusted ally and so much more. She died in my arms.
Finnick Odair. Charming, carefree Finnick Odair. The man who symbolizes the bravery of the rebels and the tributes alike. He gave his life for the cause. He left behind his family, Annie and his little son. He was the water that kept me, the girl on fire, from burning up.
And then, there's Primrose Everdeen. My Prim. My little duck. The sister who died too young; who hardly even lived. She's the girl who symbolizes everything for me. She's the reason I became the girl on fire. She's the reason I prevailed. She's part of the reason I outsmarted the Capitol. And she's the reason I am who I am now. Missing her, is the worst part of living.
Tears are streaming down my cheeks. They always do when I come visit here. I only do it once a year, for that reason.
I reach out and lay a small piece of clothing, the dress that Prim had worn to the Reaping, in front of the plaque, staring at the words on it. I can't say the words at first; but, I know I have to. It's part of my own personal ritual when I commemorate their deaths annually.
My hand moves off of the dress and my fingertips begin tracing the letters, taking them in as if I'd never read them before. Finally, I can speak, or really, sing, even if it's in a raspy, hushed whisper.
"Here is the place, where I love you."