Something Small And Quiet, Like A Match

I Must Have Loved You A Lot.

Making Knots. Making Knots. No Word. Making Knots. Tick-tock. This Is A Clock. Do Not Think Of Gale. Do Not Think Of Peeta. Making Knots.

Your Favorite Colour . . . It's Green?" "that's Right." Then I Think Of Something To Add. "and Yours Is Orange." "orange?" He Seems Unconvinced. "not Bright Orange. But Soft. Like The Sunset," I Say. "at Least, That's What You Told Me Once." "oh." He Closes His Eyes Briefly, Maybe Trying To Conjure Up That Sunset, Then Nods His Head. "thank You." But More Words Tumble Out. "you're A Painter. You're A Baker. You Like To Sleep With The Windows Open. You Never Take Sugar In Your Tea. And You Always Double-knot Your Shoelaces.

Kind People Have A Way Of Working Their Way Inside Me And Rooting There.

This Is No Place For A Girl On Fire.