lucia valentine, district eight | finished, cbd 3

lucia valentine. eighteen. district eight.

I remember the pretty things.

The tiny, lovely treasures that made up my childhood. Like a sand castle. Brilliant for a moment, and then gone with the tides. I remember the jewels, and the dresses, and all the silly toys.

And I remember losing my father, watching my mother lock herself in her room for three days, hearing my sister cry softly, and then stop. The kind of healing that leaves a scar. I remember all of these things.

I've always lived fast, in the moment. Never stopping, always rushing forward, nothing in me was made to slow down. To rest, and to to lay my roots in the earth. I had gone so fast that stopping caused me pain. I felt like a memory in the making.

Feel. Always.

But it's easier when I keep charging ahead. Through all of the reality checks, the bills reaching their due date, splitting my tips at the diner with four other waitresses, selling my dresses and my jewels and my entire childhood.

Resenting the memory of my father. For leaving me here.

While I was running, and now I can never stop.