Dear Katniss

Dear Katniss (18)

Dear Just Katniss,

Today is Friday. Do you want to know why Friday is my least favourite day? Most people say it's their favourite; it's the day before the weekend, it's just...Friday. But me, I'm different. I hate Friday. I hate it so much, I hate it too much. My mother ripped down all the letters and told me I couldn't spend all my time writing to a girl that will never fully understand me. She told me that no one can. Then she took me to a therapist. I told him I wasn't depressed, Just Katniss, I told him. He didn't believe me. Neither did she. What's wrong with me? What's next? I haven't lost my father, like you, I haven't lost my mother, but I have lost myself, Katniss. How can I tell people about you? How can I tell people about how the only time I'm happy is when I get to the mailbox and see that neat handwriting? How can I tell people that you are able to give me hope through paper and a pen?

I suppose the question isn't how, but why. Why of all people do you make me laugh, make me cry, make me smile, make me frown. Why do you make me feel like I have a good life? Maybe my mother was right. You don't fully understand me. You never will, but you try to. And I don't want you to waste your life writing to a sad, lonely boy. I don't want you to understand me. I just want you to know that I'm trying to pack. I want to get out of here as soon as possible. I just don't know whether to pack this paper and this pen. I don't even know if you'd want me to run away. I know you want to be free, but I'll never know if you want to be free with me. So, I suppose I should be free myself.

I finished packing. But I never packed that paper and pen.

From Just Peeta