Inspired by Annie and Finnick, and the heart-wrenching drawing that I used as my cover (I don't know who drew it... but thank you!). Thought there was nothing to lose in sharing. Not very many words, so I just added it onto a one-shot. Thank you for reading! :)

And when I saw him

I couldn't look away.

Coughing and stumbling

his shirt blossomed with blood

he beat at the walls of heaven.

His arms were too full

and his moments dropped wet as though tears.

I was a child,


picking them up after him like wildflowers.

A green dress

her hair in water

the fevered beatings of two scared hearts.

He held

so much of her

in his hands.

It is no wonder, really

that she broke apart.

And when he


lay all of his moments at my feet

I had no choice but to take them.

Take them and the promises in the broken glass of his eyes

let myself cry

so my voice would break.

Broken things

the only things he knew how to love.

And he was so torn

had ripped himself to use the pieces to make her stronger

his mouth was bloody but I heard his message to her:

I waited darling, until I couldn't wait any longer.

I am sorry

I could not watch

when they carried him away.

But it is grey comfort to say

that I have them now, those moments.

I have kept them

nestled them in my palms

doves with soft broken wings.

I promised to not let them fall

but clasp as I might

my fight to keep them is slipping

and I think I'm letting go.

For I have tried to slip them beneath my tongue

but they dribble out in something like a weep

through the cracks of my teeth.

I have grasped them between my toes

but they are so heavy, sometimes they drip and slip away.

My fingers are much too cold for them

my veins are much too warm.

Perhaps they would fit over my eyes

for they, too, are salty.

But my eyelashes are often so bloody

it makes them sick.

You could say

to be blinded by grief

is better than never having seen at all.

But I have felt this to be a lie

and to drop them to the ocean

would be a sweetbitter goodbye.

I am strong

you must understand. Truly, I am.

Few things cannot be made to stop trembling

with the warm clasp of a hand.

But to be shook by a sorrow not your own

is a bending grief

I can no longer comprehend.

I cannot hold on.


you can?