It’s only now that he’s been corrupted that I can fully appreciate the real Peeta. Even more than I would’ve if he’d died. The kindness, the steadiness, the warmth that had an unexpected heat behind it.
Real or not real? I am on fire. The balls of flame that erupted from the parachutes shot over the barricades, through the snowy air, and landed in the crowd. I was just turning away when one caught me, ran its tongue up the back of my body, and transformed me into something new. A creature as unquenchable as the sun. Closing my eyes doesn’t help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.
What I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.
When you’re so obsessed with something like a book or TV show and you love and ship the characters and you love the cast and you know so much about them. Then that feeling when you realise you’re slipping away from the fandom, when you loose interest even though you don’t want to, that feeling after a few months or years looking back in the fandom and missing it because the cast/characters were like your friends and the fandom was amazing and everything about it was great and just wow, you miss it so much.
Someday I’ll explain it to you, why they came, why they won’t ever go away. But I’ll tell you how I survive it. I make a list in my head, of all the good things I’ve seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It’s like a game. I do it over and over. Gets a little tedious after all these years, but… there are much worse games to play.