It’s a journal to rolplay as if your manifestations have already been fulfilled, and write about them like a diary.
Manifestation is supposed to be instant HOWEVER,
many of us have a very difficult situation with our self concept. The objective of the book it’s to help us with the self concept and normalice the desires that we are manifesting in our life.
How does it work?
It’s a small notebook book, (at least once a week) write on it as if your manifestation was already there:
- Describe yourself, not only physically but mentally. Describe your ideal body, thoughts, clothes…
- Describe specific scenarios. Receiving your A+ grades, working at that exciting job, talking with those cool new people…
- Describe how it FEELS to be around your SP. Describe their smell, the way they look at you, the way they treat you…
What’s the purpose?
- HELPING YOU VISUALISE: Imagine yourself as if you were already there will help you change your mindset and habituate yourself of FEELING this way.
- HELP WITH SELF CONCEPT: Every time you doubt about yourself, read the diary, this will remind you that you are ALREADY LIVING YOUR 4D
- HELP TO STOP GLORYING OUR DESIRES: We usually unconsciously glorify our desires making them look as if they where imposible, the objective it’s mainly training our brain to go through this experiences so we stop glorifying them and they actually start showing up in our 3D reality
Recommendations
- Write after a visualisation meditation
- Be “realistic” (What I mean by this is that you should describe your experiences with your own words and personality, you can be truly free with your use of words, don’t try to sound elegant or out of your personality, this has to look like a page of your ACTUAL diary)
- DONT PUT AFFIRMATIONS HERE: This journal it’s not with the main objective of manifest BUT to help you get into the MIND STATE as if you have ALREADY manifested what you want. By adding a list of affirmations you will loose that special personal touch, it won’t look like a diary to talk about your experiences but more like a manifestation journal, for me personally it makes it feel more forced and less personal.
THATS ALL!!
Im the OG CREATOR of this idea so if you actually do it, post it in the hashtag #4Ddiary and tag me in your post!!
Here is chapter one of my fanfic, Vipers and Virtues, a continuation of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and what I think may have happened to Lucy Gray Baird at the end. The full fic, on ao3, can be found here.
I lay in the underbrush, my breathing slow as I calm my beating heart. Night has fallen, and I stare up at the stars. They're hard to see, as a fog has settled, but I spot the Orion constellation easily. It shines bright, and I take it as a symbol of hope from the stars. They've always looked out for me, and you're never lost when they're around you.. I once believed my destiny was written in them, but Coriolanus is long gone.
Coriolanus.
His name is poison in my mind. I was so stupid to trust him. The moment he'd told me he was responsible for three deaths, and his avoidance of my question, I pieced it all together. The look on his face at the hanging tree wasn't grief. It was guilt. Coriolanus had blamed Mayfair and Billy Taupe's murder on Sejanus, despite killing Mayfair himself. Sejanus just wanted a better life. We all wanted a better life. Sejanus, a district boy... it all made sense. How Coriolanus disliked him, as subtle as he tried to conceal it. He viewed Sejanus as he viewed the rest of us: inhumane. Lesser beings. Savages. If it had been his choice, he would've left Sejanus in the Games to die in the hands of Reaper or the snakes. I took it upon myself to thank the stars for the snakes' behavior toward me, perhaps the one act of kindness Coriolanus provided me. Yet, he may have done it for himself, not for me. I was no stranger to the gifts presented to the mentors. If I won, he received a full scholarship to the Capitol's university, as well as fame amongst the Capitol. His acts were not out of care for me, they were to ensure his success. While I get nothing, he gets everything.
I can feel my heart pulsating in my arm where one of his rapid-fire shots struck me. I clutch it tightly as blood flows between my fingers. Sticky, red, hot. It reminds me of Reaper's pile of bodies in the arena. I tremble at the thought. Despite my efforts, memories of the Games will always remain.
It's been a few hours since Coriolanus fled, so I make myself stand. Whether it be from laying for so long or blood loss, I'm not sure exactly, but my head swims and I lean on the tree next to me for support. My legs tingling, I take one step, then another. A twig snaps under my foot. I flinch, but the only ones listening are the mockingjays above me. I watch one spread its wings and flap away in the direction of District 12, the only home I've ever known. This is no time for sentiment, so I continue my journey toward the lake. Thorns prick me, and more than once a branch scrapes me, but I continue on, determined to reach the small shed at the edge of the lake. Coriolanus must've fled back to the headquarters. If he reports me, I have to flee, and quickly, but I'm exhausted. I need to tend to my wounds and drink.
As I clear through the forest, I see a warped glint of light, signifying the lake is nearby. I let out a jovial cry, panting as I continue through the bushes. Twigs snap and trees rustle, but I don't care. The dirt beneath me gets slicker, and I catch myself half-running toward the water. Exhaustion, heat, and dehydration catch up to me, and I slide down the rest of the way, mud caking my legs as I submerge myself into the fresh, cool water. Shaking, I put my hands together and splash water on my face, letting the dirt trail off in little streams. I scoop water into my mouth, rejoicing in the freshness and how it soothes my aching throat. My arm angrily jabs in pain, reminding me of my wounds, and I slow my motions. On the shore, I find a large leaf and ball it up before wetting it. I bring myself to a shallower end, sitting upright as I assess my body. My legs are riddled with scratches and dirt, though those are the least of my worries. My left arm is caked in blood, the gunshot aching. The pressure I've applied to it helped a great deal, but if I don't treat it soon, it could become infected. My best bet would be to fashion a tourniquet, but I don't have any spare fabric on me. Unless Coriolanus left his scarf near the trap.
Begrudgingly, I stand up, despite my aching loins. I walk out of the sopping mud, my legs once again covered by the thick soil. I continued uphill, retracing my steps, carefully this time. For all I know, the snake, albeit it's limited danger, could still be around. Soon, I spot it, the small patch of orange that was his scarf. It had been trampled on, made obvious by the dirt stains and rumpled effect of it, but I hunch over and reach my left hand out to it, right hand still gripping my arm, and-
The snake returns, jumping at me in a flash. I recoil quickly, stumbling back a few steps. He seems to be guarding the scarf, circling around it while he hisses at me. His tongue darts out to me and I look from side to side, trying to figure out which angle to take it from. Sure, he isn't poisonous, but a snakebite on top of a gunshot wound? It increases the chances of infection, and in the woods, an infection could be a death sentence. Cautiously, I take another step back, watching his movements. Considering I set the trap with him and the scarf, any attachment was my fault. How ironic. Strange, though, how it protected something it was used to. It reminded me of the muttations that were dropped in the arena, how they protected me. The scarf smelled like Coriolanus, and it'd struck Coriolanus. It must have a connection with him.
No. I shook my head. This wasn't a mutt, it was a real creature, formed biologically, not in a lab. It needed a distraction, not a forged connection. I still myself, creeping down as slowly as I can, my legs barely touching the twig-filled ground. The snake recoiled, sticking its tongue out as it slowly backed away, eyes trained on me. I still, looking slightly to the left for anything I can use. All I can see is thick weeds and thorns, overgrown tree roots and puddles from the rain that haven't dried completely. I lean slightly, adjusting my weight so as to not make a sound. It's a very awkward position, my right hand grasping my arm, dried blood caked and sticky between my fingers, my entire body wobbling on its left side, my left and extended outward. It doesn't help that I'm in a dress. My eyes remain on the snake, who has completely retreated in its own circle on top of the scarf. I lower my hand, wincing as I get pricked by a thorn, but make no noise. My hand continues to lower until I touch soggy ground and drag it around. Soon, my fingers land on something smooth and solid, and I grab it. Or, at least, attempt to. Half of it is lodged in the thick mud, and in this position, with my weakened arm, it's nearly impossible. I bring my nails to the side, thankful for the lack of clippers in my old home, and begin to rake at the side of the mud. It's grueling work, but after a few minutes I have one side completely dislodged. I wipe my fingers, slippery with mud, on my dress, and dislodge the rock. Due to the force, my arm shoots up quickly and sends a bit of dirt toward the snake. I flinch, but it doesn't budge.
I groan quietly as I stand up, my muscles protesting. I need to get rest, and quickly. If I can't get that scarf, it's hopeless. The chance of getting an infection is low, but a risk is a risk. I raise my arm as high as I can without pain, which isn't very high, and throw the rock. It makes a loud thump, causing the snake to jump and bolt after it. In my haste to grab the scarf, I fall to my knees and blindly reach around for the scarf. I grab hold of it before slipping straight on my face with a grunt, loud enough to divert the snake's attention. It slithers back toward, fangs outstretched. I turn away, and suddenly I'm slipping. Down, down I go, running into twigs, bushes, and thorns, scraping and scratching everywhere. I stop with a thump against a particularly large tree root, gathering my bearings. I still have the scarf, a bright orange in the moonlight, and climb over the tree root. I can no longer see the snake, and the lake is only a few yards away. I sigh in relief once more, grabbing hold of a few sticks as I continue to the water. I waste no time in getting in, submerging myself fully before swimming to the shore nearest the shed. My stomach grumbles, my cuts sting, my arm screams in pain, everything hurts. Exhaustion tries to take over, but for my own survival, I must keep going. I manage to clean off my scrapes with a single hand, and then remove the pressure. I almost vomit at the sight of my arm, all bloody and holy, but I take to cleaning it, ignoring the stinging, before assessing the damage.
It was a clean shot, but the bullet didn't go all the way through. There is no way for me to remove it, so I have to hope for the best. Whatever "the best" is. I gulp down some water, before using the sticks and scarf to fashion a tourniquet. It's nowhere near perfect, and quite messy, but the best I can do. I drink some more water and properly rinse the dirt out of my hair before rising and heading toward the shed. I shiver a bit, and look to the sky. It's about midnight now. If Coriolanus were to alert the other Peacekeepers, wouldn't they have come by now? Or was he waiting until the morning? Either way, I have to rest up to keep myself moving by sunrise.
Only the embers of the fire I'd started hours ago remained, and the stench of burnt fish filled the room. Of course, Coriolanus had burnt the food. The satchel containing the guns that killed Billy Taupe and Mayfair was missing, too. Not that I care. Those weapons held the truth about their murders; It wasn't Sejanus, it was Coriolanus who'd killed them. Rightfully so, but Sejanus had hung because of Coriolanus' lies. You cannot come back from that.
I assess what's left: my metal can, some matches, the dry wood, a few packages of cracked nuts, courtesy of Maude Ivory, a bottle of water, and our fishing hooks. I displaced my knife somewhere near the katniss roots, but my hunt for it will begin tomorrow morning. I pile a few sacks on top of each other as a makeshift pillow, chew on a few tasteless nuts, and allow myself to drift to sleep.
Are you, are you
Coriolanus' voice rings in my ears. I can hear him, but I can't see him. I can't see anything. My eyes are covered, and stiff hands lead me down a gravel path. Someone is walking beside me, their feet dragging, and I can hear murmurs all around. I stumble on something large, but the hand pulls me back up and growls "Keep moving."
Coming to the tree
Blindly, I do. My only guide is the person behind me, who walks straight up, as if he has a purpose. The murmurs become louder, and the ground becomes bumpier as we continue our journey. When my foot knocks on wood, we halt to a stop.
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?
The sack is removed from my head, and I gaze up at the hanging tree. My mouth opens in terror, and I see the hand on my shoulder is that of a Peacekeeper's. I look to my side, and my partner is Maude Ivory. "Maude Ivory?" I hiss, my heart beating wildly. I look around me, seeing the dusty, lined faces of the people of my district. "What's happening?"
Strange things did happen here
Tears streak through her dirt-covered face. "I'm sorry," she whimpers, lips trembling. She heaves, and a loud sob comes out. I shush her before a loud stomp grabs my attention, and I look up the platform. Two nooses, as customary, are tied to branches above trap doors. It only takes me a moment to register that they're for us. My jaw drops, and I look to Maude in horror, who is stuck on a silent sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobs, before our Peacekeepers lead us up the stairs of the platform. I'm trembling, but I keep a straight face. I remember something Coriolanus said to me once, in one of our private meetings before the games. Never let them see you bleed. I steady myself, climbing the stairs on my own accord. His voice continues to ring throughout the crowd.
No stranger would it be
I step on the trapdoor as Maude Ivory's Peacekeeper pushes her on hers before straightening her back. We stand tall, facing members of our district. Maude Ivory is hyperventilating, and I look at her, pressing my finger to my mouth. It's the only solace I can give her. There is no comfort: this is how the Covey's end. I spot our friends in the crowd, and they present grim faces.
Someone clears their throat behind us and begins to speak. "On this day, we bring you the faces of two traitors: Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray Baird. They have betrayed the Capitol, therefore all of Panem, and are charged for the murders of Billy Taupe and Mayfair Lipp. The weapons found in this satchel-" I assume the speaker holds up a satchel- "are confirmed to be those that caused the death of the mourned. Near the weapons we found Lucy Gray Baird, asleep in a shed, and upon the search of her home found Miss Maude Ivory, both popular members of the Covey. The hunt for the rest continues."
Murder? Treason? We'd done nothing. Maude Ivory, out of the two of us, was most innocent. She discovered the bodies, I was merely a witness to their murders! I'd never even touched the weapons, where was the proof I'd touched them? Why wasn't Coriolanus standing up for me? Surely, Sejanus had already been hung, had they not put the case to rest? Spruce was dead as well, so was Lils. Everyone connected was dead. Except Coriolanus. Something he said to me pinged. Snow lands on top.
No matter what, the blood on his hands would be placed on someone else. Who else died at his expense? First Bobbin, then Mayfair, then Sejanus... who else? Maude Ivory? Me? The rest of the Coveys? What was his plan, to kill off everyone in District 12? Become Head Peacekeeper? There was no prize in that. Then, I remember how he hoped to become a national hero. To return to the Capitol, a place he spoke so fondly of.
His selfishness got the best of him. He'd blamed me, said I framed him and Sejanus, to save himself. Coriolanus shows no mercy. Snow lands on top.
Someone stepped beside me, slipping the noose over my head. I swallow, looking straight ahead. I would be avenged. A hand brushes against my skin as the noose slips over me, a hand that I know all too well. "Coriolanus," I say under my breath, no kindness in my voice. I can sense his smile next to me.
"Lucy Gray," He murmurs, almost mocking me. "How shocked I was, learning of your involvement in the deaths of these poor citizens." Now, he was. I flare my nostrils, continuing to look ahead. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of meeting my eye.
"You'll pay for this," I growl, my voice harsh. He merely chuckles before whispering his mantra in my ear.
"Snow lands on top."
I can tell he goes to the trap door, to open it, to conduct the execution. Quietly, I hear him.
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree
Before he opens it, I hear the mockingjays begin to sing. It gives me satisfaction, and I smile before the trap door is opened beneath me.
I wake up in a cold sweat, grasping at my throat. I breathe heavily, taking in my surroundings. Sunlight spills in through the lone windows, and I gather my bearings. Slowly, I remove the satchel from under my head, and begin to fill it with my few supplies. For good measure, I take all but two dry logs. I remove all traces of myself, leaving everything the way it was, spare the missing logs. If the Coveys came looking for me, they'd know I was long gone. I step out of the shed silently, rubbing my eyes as I adjust to the sunlight. The sun is still rising, and I couldn't have gotten more than six hours of sleep, but the more distance between me and District 12, the better. I drink from the lake and refill my water bottle, then set off to find the katniss roots. Sure enough, my knife lay abandoned, a few uprooted katniss roots surrounding it. I grab a few more and store them for good measure. I return to the shed, sure to cover my tracks, and begin to follow the lake. I wade knee-height in it to hide my tracks, while also keeping note of any fish that swim by. The sun bears down on me, proving it will be a hot day. I'm thankful I have the lake near me. After putting an hour between me and the shed, I begin to hum the tune about Clementine. It's a sad song, really. Soon, a mockingjay picks up, and the forest lightens up with my song. They tell me that I'm not really alone.
Another few miles down, I find a fallen tree on the side of the lake and allow myself to rest. I sit back, basking in the sunlight as I assess my wound. The gunshot still aches, and the skin I can see is a bright red. I remove the makeshift tourniquet and wash my skin again, trying not to grimace at how awful it appears. I fasten it with new sticks, bathing my feet in the water. It's shaded here, and I watch a small bunny hop behind me. She pauses, staring at me as her nose quivers. I watch her deep, black eyes widen. The cloud moves and the sun shines down upon her as she goes back on all fours. How beautiful, a wild animal, free from the horrors of the world. She'd probably never encountered a human. Probably never again. The flowers blooming behind her created a perfect image, and if I were a skilled painter, I'd have painted the scene before me in a heartbeat. I feel a pang in my stomach. Despite my hunger, I let her roam free. She didn't choose her life, who am I to dictate hers? I don't need any more blood on my hands, human or animal. She hops away, heading east through the foliage. I watch her go.
I will not end up like Coriolanus. I refuse.
Despite that reasoning, after ten moments of rest I begin to fish. I catch some easily, quickly ending their misery with my knife and eating one raw. It's gross, and a bit demeaning, but anything to keep myself alive and healthy. I store the remaining two in a spare satchel before standing and continuing to wade down the path. The forest grows thicker, and soon I'm stuck with no shore, just deep water surrounded by thick bushes and overgrown trees. Nobody has stepped foot here in years, maybe decades. I would eventually have to swim to keep going, and that's not good if I end up in a storm. I turn around and walk the mile back to where I saw the bunny. All is still, and just as I left it. I sit down against the log again and drink, before rising and heading east, toward the bunny. Perhaps she was my savior. I bend under low branches and navigate through thorns, the lake behind me. There are still puddles around me, and it rains often. If I run out of water, I'll be able to follow my tracks back to the lake. I continue my trek until nightfall with no incident, sweating profusely. There are many miles between not just me and the lake, but me and District 12. The further I go from there, the closer to freedom, to the north. I've traveled east for some time now, but I can continue north whenever I please. Anywhere that isn't Capitol is good to me.
There's a large willow tree a few yards away from me, and I cross over to it easily. Slinging my satchel over my back, I begin to scale the tree, climbing until the vines conceal me and I find a sturdy branch to lay on. It isn't the comfiest, but if I fall I'll have a soft landing. Not that I plan on falling.
For the first time in my life, I peacefully lull off to sleep without danger of being discovered.
the point of tbosas is to make you uncomfortable and it was so important for suzanne collins to do that, especially in times like these when america is inching closer to becoming a dystopa
ok but the ballad of songbirds & snakes is so relevant to our times, we have people who aren’t from the capitol being locked in cages, july 4th is a “patriotic” day (MAJOR kudos to suzanne for this), the government purposely hurts people... etc etc. the hunger games is just a metaphor for the current times
Don’t forget the part where one tribute tore pieces from the Panem flag to cover the bodies of the fallen and give them some dignity... and the Capitol was outraged not at the fact that children were being slaughtered, but that their beloved flag could be treated with such disrespect.
I’m not saying Suzanne Collins did this on purpose but actually yeah that’s exactly what I’m saying.
Also the reaping taking place on July 4, and the district people being put IN CAGES and treated like animals because they were from ... somewhere else ...
Happy International Porpentina Goldstein Day! It's her birthday, so of course I had to write a fic ;)
It's Tina's 26th birthday, and a certain someone gives her a special present...
Tina awoke to the smell of cinnamon and her sister's delicate voice singing in the kitchen. She smiled to herself, rolling to the left and staring at the small stack of cards and a steaming mug of coffee that lay on the table beside her bed. Her hand stretched to the table, grabbing the handful of cards. She muttered the levitation incantation and the mug floated toward her, hovering above her hand as she propped her pillow up and laid against it, sorting through the stack of five. Tina took a drink of her coffee, but when she saw the name written on a postcard from London, she froze. "Newt Scamander," she whispered quietly, but before she had time to open it Queenie slid open the door to their room, a tray of cinnamon strudel in her arms.
"Happy birthday, Teenie," she lilted, flicking her wand and sending a plate of strudel at her sister. "I hope you don't mind, Jacob bought you a card too. I still can't believe he was never 'bliviated correctly, happy as I am. Anyway, he wanted you to be sure he's rather gratuitous you let him continue on with his memory... and that you approve of us going to London to marry." Queenie said the last six words in a hushed tone, because she knew it was a touchy subject. Tina didn't mind and simply stated her thanks, taking a bite out of her strudel. All thoughts of Newt's postcard subsided as she spoke with her sister, too joyous about turning twenty six to worry about such a thing. Her present from Queenie was a small photograph of her, her parents, and Tina from when they were younger for Tina to put in her locket. Tina put it in immediately, only thinking for a split second who's photo she would love to see in the second slot, but she quickly brushed that thought away. Queenie quickly cleaned up Tina's plate, ordering her to get dressed. "You've got a very important meetin' today, Miss Goldstein," she'd said playfully, though Tina couldn't figure out what she meant. It was a Friday, and President Picquery had allowed her and Queenie the day off to celebrate, so she had no scheduled meetings. Tina decided not to give her sister's words too much thought and got dressed, putting on her new blue and white striped blouse and a pair of black trousers. Tina quickly ran her fingers through her hair, but before she left the room she spotted the discarded pile of cards, more specifically the postcard from London. From Newt. She walked toward it slowly, grabbing it and bringing it toward her face. His handwriting was short and messy, though Tina could tell he had tried to make it best for her. Her heart swelled at his words.
'Dear Tina,
By the time you receive this, it'll be your birthday. Happy birthday, Tina! I hope your day is full of wonder and surprises. And I hope work is treating you well, especially after saving the length of New York with me. Perhaps they'll pardon all of my mistakes next!
I must admit, I do miss the pleasure of your company, and I wish I could spend your birthday with you in New York. It does seem rather rash for me to say so, but honesty is the best policy. I do hope I can make it to the city sometime, it'd be quite joyous to spend time with you, Queenie, and Jacob. My apologies for any hassle I've created, I don't know why he wasn't Obliviated fully, though I have my theories. But this letter is about you!
Tina, in a parcel that should deliver with this postcard attached I have included three things: an empty journal, the pen I used to write my manuscript, and the book I wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them in. I hope that, after reading it, you will be inspired to write a story such as I have. Perhaps it can be about our adventures in the city together, though that does come off as a bit of an autobiography, and I know how you like to keep the attention off of you. I don't understand why, given you're as brilliant as you are, but I hope someday you'll realize just how perfect you already are.
Happy Birthday, Tina.
Yours,
Newton Scamander.'
Tina held the postcard to her chest, eyes welling up with tears of joy. She was touched Newt would gift her such a thing. A smile spread wide on her face, her hands opening the parcel that lay next to the stack of cards hastily. As promised, there was a black, brand new journal that smelled of crisp paper, a black pen, and a battered, old, and brown journal that Tina recognized. She flipped through the pages of Newt's manuscript, stopping at a page near the end that was labeled "For Tina," followed by another note.
'I am entrusting you with one of my most prized possessions, because I trust you, Tina, and I made a promise. I would say I hope you treat it well, but I know that you will, simply for my sake. You're a giver, Tina, though on this day you're a receiver. I hope you'll accept my gifts to you.
Yours,
Newt'
Tina smiled to herself, carefully placing Newt's journal into a drawer on the table, knowing she would be fawning over the pages into the early hours of the morning the next day. Queenie called her from the living room, and Tina left her bedroom, her hand touching the locket that hung around her neck once more. "Teenie, there's someone waiting for you at Central Park. They won't allow me to disclose who they are, but you'll know eventually," Queenie said with a mischievous grin, pushing her sister out the door. "This'll be your best birthday yet!" She mused, waving Tina away before closing the door. Tina could hear her giggling from the hallway, and rolled her eyes. Who would be expecting her at Central Park, and why must she go alone? Was it an old friend from Ilvermorny, or a professor? Tina didn't know, but her sister did, so that alleviated any worry that it was a serious matter. Tina apparated out of her apartment, landing at just the edge of the park. No-maj's didn't give her a second look as she walked down the sidewalk, trees and flowers surrounding her. There was a large fountain that spewed water from it, and Tina remembered playing near it on her 11th birthday, just a few weeks shy of leaving for her first year at Ilvermorny. Tina continued walking at a face pace before there was a clearing. She saw a couple sitting on a bench next to each other, the male with a newspaper in his hand, discussing the current events with the female. Tina turned her head in the other direction, and what she saw stopped her in her tracks.
There, sitting alone on a bench, checking his stopwatch and flipping through the pages of a novel, was Newt Scamander. His case lay beside him on the bench, an obvious sign that the seat beside him was taken. And for her. "Newt," Tina said quietly, suddenly regaining consciousness and taking a few steps toward him. "You came back."
Newts gaze lifted and he saw her, a white smile suddenly forming on his face. He beckoned her to come forward, and stood up as she approached him and enveloped him in a hug. "Thank you," she muttered into his shoulder, still utterly shocked that he would make such an appearance. "How... how did you, when...?" She was at a loss for words.
Newt grinned at her, bending down and taking his case in hand. He was wearing just a white shirt and brown trousers. "I left the day after I wrote your postcard. I knew I had to be there for you, and I promised to deliver your copy in person, though I believe you've already received i-"
Tina interrupted Newt's sentence with a kiss, too overcome with excitement and gratitude to hold herself back. After a few seconds, Newt returned it, snaking his arm around her waist. They stood there for many moments, rejoicing in their reunion and Tina's appreciation. Tina broke away hesitantly, her eyes immediately finding Newt. "There, that's your present," Tina said quietly, her eyes flicking up to meet his as she bit her lip. Newt simply stared at her, his mind racing as he looked at her. "Thank you for coming back for me."
"I will always come back for you," Newt said, and he kissed her again. After a few moments, they intertwined their hands. They didn't know what was going to happen next, but they knew one thing for certain:
You don’t get what you wish for, you get what you expect. Your expectations shape your reality. The thing is, most people expect the worst, they’re continuously repeating in their heads the worst-case scenarios. They fear things that haven’t even happened yet. It is the quickest way to self-sabotage.
If your expectations shape the world around you, wouldn’t it be a good idea to start expecting the best? Expect miracles, expect opportunities, expect positive incidents, expect good things.
What you focus on grows, so if you learn how to train your focus, if you maintain a positive attitude, you will notice a big change in your external world. It will become a reflection of your internal expectations, it will start to confirm those expectations. Stop rehearsing the worst-case scenarios. You don’t need to experience them, 99% of the things you worry about never happen.
I hope after Katniss told Peeta she loved him the first time that she would tell him a hundred times a day. Her reason? She wants to make up for all the times she didn’t say it.
