A TALE MY IMAGINATION CREATED

“Real”

It’s been six months and I can still feel the way her mouth moved. The chapped dry warmth of her lips pressed into mine uncertain and unpracticed, as her exhale hotly left her nose into my cheek. The kisses from before had been rushed and hazed over by fever and the certainty that I was dying. But this kiss…this kiss was like waking up, waking up to find you weren’t dreaming at all.

How her hair felt between my fingers. The gentle sound of sighs from her throat. How she tasted on the soft insides of her cheeks. This kiss was the first that hit me in the gut and coiled in my belly hot and heavenly. For just a moment it swept me away. Away from the damp floor of the cave, and the smell of blood, and sweat, and the sourness of our skin. Away from the itch between our shoulder blades telling us death was waiting.

It’s been six months and if I close my eyes I can almost feel her pulling away and see the stunned look in her beautiful silver eyes as her hand came to her bruised and swollen lips. Her nails were crusted with dirt, her braid lay lank and stuck with sweat to her throat and her cheeks were gorgeously flushed. Six months since I survived. Six months since she crashed into my arms on stage, and even though I took her lips time and time again and couldn’t stop tasting her and feeling her in my arms because she was here and alive and whole and I couldn’t believe it with each press of my lips and pass of my hands she somehow tasted different, felt different.

So I dug my hands into her hair and held her face to mine with the droning approval of the capitol a fog in my ears as I tried desperately not to feel what I knew was her slipping away.I held on so tight.

1x01 | 2x01 | 2x13 

“We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything - what a waste.”