we live in water color

.

let's paint beautiful pictures of lives we didn't live in water color tears.

.

.

.

.

he's painting portraits

on your skin, mosaics down

your spine. constellations

burned on your heart and

your fingers knot like intangible

lines, ever entwined

there are not variables

in this equation,

only constants, you

and him, into eternity.

dandelion days

and fire glow sunsets as you

try to forget all

the horrors you saw (you were).

some nights you scream so

loud, your voice echoes in your

head. but he says "i

love you still" and you press your

lips to his, desperation

back like the old days.

"we are safe." he whispers as

you press tear tracks into

his shoulder and erase memories

like they are pencil

marks on a page, sketches

to be crumpled and burned in

fire (oh, your greatest

enemy) deep deep breaths, they're

all dead and gone now

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hunger Games.

AN: I like reviews. Hint hint nudge nudge wink wink cough cough.