I hear her breathe, slowly and deeply, her breath warm against my chest. The night surrounds us, calls to us with nameless voices, but for me, there is only the sound of her breathing, the scent of her hair, the the soft brush of her flesh against my fingers as I gently caress her face. Her weight presses against me, and I'm suddenly aware of how heavy she feels, completely abandoned to my embrace, a gesture of vulnerability and trust she would never freely share in her waking hours.
You'd be heavy too, if you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders.
I look up at the blank night sky, and imagine it flecked with stars, each one standing silent guard over its own corner of heaven, each one a reminder that a little light is all it takes, really, to roll back the darkness. And I wish I could pluck one from the heavens, still glimmering and radiant, and drive away the twilight in her soul for just a moment.
She stirs, briefly, and a sigh escapes her lips. I am reminded that even in sleep, she knows no peace. I would gladly hold her, just like this, in silent and unrequited love, until my life ebbed away if I thought it would help her. But I know, deep down, it won't. It isn't my arms she craves, but they're hers as long as she wants them. My eyes begin to feel heavy, so I turn them to gaze at her just once more. I want my last waking memory to be of her face, and I am not surprised to find sadness etched into her countenance. I watch her lying there, breathing in, breathing out, each action tinged with a grief she cannot fully express. And finally, I surrender to waiting dark of slumber.
In my dreams, she's standing in an open meadow, the fresh, green blades of grass just tall enough to tickle the soft skin around her ankles. She's facing west, transfixed by the beauty of the sun as it glides through the final steps in its daily waltz, and as a soft breeze blows gently across her visage, she lifts her head and breathes in deeply, soaking in every precious drop of beauty around her. The wind teases the wisps of her auburn hair, while the rest is gathered in a single, perfectly woven braid that always reminds me of her remarkable strength.
In my dreams, she's dressed in a long, flowing gown, slightly open in the back, its shade a rich coral that highlights her rosy skin and deep gray eyes, eyes that always remind me of the roiling clouds of a gathering storm. Eyes that I have not yet seen in my dream, but somehow still know better than my own. The dress, like its wearer, is not flashy or gaudy. It's simple. Elegant.
Beautiful.
In my dreams, I'm standing behind her, far enough away that she doesn't sense me, but close enough to be completely enraptured by her beauty. The glory of the setting sun cannot compare with the vision before me, this exquisite grace in human form, and I have to fight to keep from gasping at the sight of her, for fear my presence might disturb the bliss of this moment. In her shadow, I feel safe. I feel hidden. I feel protected. I feel at home.
But it's no good; she's far too clever, and I'm far too clumsy, and my heart breaks when I see her start, jolted from her serenity by the realization that she is not alone. She turns, slowly, and I want to run away, as far and as fast as I can, anything to keep from intruding further upon her sanctuary. Fear wells up within me, a bubbling, gnawing agony in my stomach, and no matter what I do, I can't seem to make my legs move. There is a radiance about her that threatens to consume me, and so, in one final effort to escape, I close my eyes and brace myself for what's to come.
In my dreams, I feel her hand, soft upon my face, and I slowly, tentatively open my eyes. I see a burst of yellow, an exploding sun, full of light and heat, dangerous, yet comforting, and I feel its warmth inching over the cold places the fear had corrupted. Heating them. Healing them. My eyes focus, and I realize that what I've seen is not a sun at all.
It's a single, brilliant dandelion.
I raise my eyes slowly, drawn to her, though I do not know what I will find in that face that is burned into my memory. Will is find anger? Disappointment? That same, longing sadness I've always seen? Slowly, slowly, my face comes to meet hers, and there, splayed across her perfect features, is a smile, at once devastating and resplendent, a smile birthed from the purest, most authentic joy imaginable, bubbling up from her soul. The smile makes me complete, and I know—somehow—that it's the one thing I've ever really wanted. It's the one thing I'd be willing to live and die for. And I smile, too.
Because in my dreams, Katniss Everdeen is happy.