… its too early for this bullshit."
I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.
70% of editing is just looking at ur work for a few hours with this face
So everytime I type something wrong or use the wrong word or the wrong tempus or grammar etc. I always get paranoid that someone who has english as their native language, will read what I wrote and spot all the mistakes I made and think, “Is she stupid or something?” or “Daamn, her english is horrible, I am never going to speak to her”.
Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise.