rhysand ward ; district three { fin } ; cb

teach

me

It was pen to paper, long, overly swooped curves that led to words printed upon a page that'd only live long enough outside its envelope casing for but mere seconds- minutes, even. It was letters to self, recognition and realization never once found. It was letters to Kiena, thrown away, stuffed with the rest I'd made each and every day, and sometimes several- they're left in a bundled mess that seemingly never stops growing and the dusty desk that remains in the corner of my room. It was made sun-dusted by the cracks in the window shades, where dust particles flow visible and collect on scattered envelopes and letters made throughout the day, all they waited for was a hand to dust them off, and only so that it belonged to a lost girl who went by the name Kiena Ward.


Stepping foot, to creaking floorboard, into the abandoned palace, not even a field from the grave yard, it was kept for years upon years a reminder that once blossoming things die out- ultimately coming to an end. I'd spent most of my days tending to the forgotten, another chance at a life that could've been when the researchers thought to forsake a lost cause. Picking one by one, gathering a small bundle from the old, tattered greenhouse, ( where life was brought back at the hands of someone who held onto patience and hope ) I closed up the shop for one, trekking through the woods and back to the grave yard. ( It was something that almost became a tradition now. ) Resting it on the base of a young grave, I sank to my knees and paid my respects towards a secret that was kept for the betterment of our safekeeping. ( "What does it feel like to have the same last name as a tribute who died in the games?" )


"Welcome to the first second of eternity.
Quite a long time, isn't it?"

the pain

of  g r o w t h