No one left I love — peetamellarkthebaker: “Always.” In the twilight...

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peetamellarkthebaker
peetamellarkthebaker

"Always."
In the twilight of the morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.