"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And days o' lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne"

A song my father used to sing at Christmas and New Year. A song from many many years ago. A song I sing purely for tradition, not for meaning. For my old acquaintances will not be forgotten. They can't be.

The song brings a strong nostalgic feeling. It makes me want to cry and laugh all at once. Peeta says his family sang it too, but not in the same way. Unlike Peeta's family, my father sang it in a language he called 'old Scots' I like it that way best.

The fire sparks and crackles, enlightening the dark living room. It's cosy, it's warm. I feel safe and at peace. We thought about inviting everyone for Christmas and New Year, Effie, Annie, Gale and the others. But we decided we prefer it this way. Just Peeta, Haymitch and myself on the eve of New Year. Haymitch drinks, and we let him. Peeta bakes, and we eat. I sing, and they listen.

I love them, I really do. Both of them. Even Haymitch, with his drinking and his crooked smile. He does not quite match the presence of my father, no one ever will, but he fills a space that only he can. And Peeta, my lover, my best friend. Everything is so perfect. I like New Year, the idea of a clean start. It's a clean slate. A new beginning. That's what Peeta once told me. It was New Year a couple of years ago...

The snow had been heavy that New Year, the air frosty. But that hadn't stopped me from sitting on the roof of my house. Peeta had been painting in the study, Haymitch had been drinking in the living room. I had snuck away to be alone, but Peeta had soon determined my whereabouts. He silently joined me on the roof. "Happy new year, huh, you don't seem particularly happy." Peeta had said.

"I don't like New Year." I said. He wrapped his arm around me then.

"Why not? It's a clean slate. A new beginning." He said.

"But what if I don't want a clean slate, Peeta? What if I already like the picture I've drawn on this years slate?" Peeta had held me tighter.

"Well, if you draw the same picture every year for the rest of your life, that would be pretty boring, no?" Peeta said. I nodded. "Life is all about change. You might like this years picture even better than last. Just because the pictures new, that doesn't mean you can't draw me back in it, and Haymitch, even Buttercup." We both laughed. "I'm sure you'll draw something beautiful."

It was that night that made me realise that a new beginning doesn't mean significant change, it just means new seasons, new opportunities. And Peeta was right, each year draws a more beautiful masterpiece. Peeta, a man of powerful words, I will never stop being amazed by him. Every time he talks so beautifully I fall in love with him all over again.

Haymitch stays until midnight, bringing in the New year with whiskey, along with Peeta. Whereas I have a glass of water, whiskey makes my stomach turn. We clink glasses and cheer for the new year. Haymitch leaves, stumbling out of the door, Peeta and I insist he call us when he's home so we know he's safe,

***

Peeta and I lay in bed in silence, before he speaks. "I wonder what will happen this year."

"Hmm, i don't know. What do you want to happen this year?" I ask.

"How do you feel about...children?" He asks. This is not the first time this conversation has arisen, so his question does not shock me.

"You know how I feel about that." I say, my tone plain. I mean it, I do not want to bring children into a world full of evil, but I don't want to upset Peeta with my firmness. I keep a light tone to my voice.

"But Katniss..." Peeta whines.

"Quit acting like a child." I laugh, although I'm very serious.

"Katniss..."

"Peeta..." I mock his whining tone. "I'm being serious. No. I can't, I'm sacred. You know it scares me."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry." Peeta buries his head in my neck.

"I know you are. And I know you want kids so badly and I'm sorry I can't give that to you. I'm sorry...perhaps one year, in the future, we will have children. You can draw them onto your clean slate. But not this year, and probably not the year after that. But know how much I love you, and how much I want you to be happy."

"I love you too..." That's all Peeta says before drifting to sleep. I lay awake replaying his request in my mind.

Being born into a hollow home is easier than being born into one full of warmth and love. My house in The Seam, cold and damp, was still homely and happy. But, of course, when my father died, all of that was ripped away, which is worse than never having it in the first place. My mum was as good as dead, too. She may not have left me physically, but her presence was as good as gone. I had to watch my family starve, I had to watch my ribs slowly expose. Every year I feared the reaping, until I had no option but to endure the wrath of the games in place of Prim. I may have survived but I certainly lost the game. The nightmares came. And then I was back in the arena. More trauma, only this time mingled with sacrifice. Then Peeta was ripped away from me. Tortured, beaten and brought back to me, but not as Peeta, as a monster. He tired to kill me, I had to fight to bring him back, watch him struggle, watch him cry. Watch my sister disappear in front of me. My whole world fell apart. I had to be strong. I had to completely rebuild myself.

Do I really want to bring a child into a world like that?