Eyes On The Forest, Not On The

It's Ideal Really. They Will Come Up With A Plan. No One Will Like It. Everyone Will Feel They Have Been Treated Unfairly, But Will Be Happy That Their Neighbors Feel The Same. And That Is The Nature Of Compromise. Now Let's Go Eat An Awful Lot.

In Our World, I Rank Music Somewhere Between Hair Ribbons And Rainbows In Terms Of Usefulness.

Then, In My Most Careful Handwriting, Come All The Details It Would Be A Crime To Forget. Lady Licking Prim's Cheek. My Father's Laugh. Peeta's Father With The Cookies. The Colour Of Finnick's Eyes. What Cinna Could Do With A Length Of Silk. Boggs Reprogramming The Holo. Rue Poised On Her Toes, Arms Slightly Extended, Like A Bird About To Take Flight. On And On. We Seal The Pages With Salt Water And Promises To Live Well To Make Their Death Count.

Roses. Wolf Mutts. Tributes. Frosted Dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me. Everything Screams In My Dreams Tonight.

Aren't They The Very Reason I Have To Try To Fight? Because What Has Been Done To Them Is So Wrong, So Beyond Justification, So Evil That There Is No Choice? Because No One Has The Right To Treat Them As They Have Been Treated?