Dear Katniss

Dear Peeta (20)

Dear Just Peeta,

I didn't know what to expect- maybe one last letter? Some appreciation about how much I've tried to help you? But maybe that wasn't enough for you. I'm sorry I couldn't come to you, I'm sorry after a couple of months writing to each other you expected a letter every day, and that you expected I wouldn't live my life and you expected I should have to feel the pain you go through and you expected that I would sit through every second, every minute, every hour cowering with you until the end? I'm sorry if that's what you expected. But you know, I expected a little more decency. I expected more wholeness, I expected more comfort. I expected a whole lot more and you didn't deliver, and that was okay, because I was able to distract myself and listen to music until every word of every song was stuck in my brain and I could drift off to sleep not worrying about you. But now? You're off somewhere, which is good, because you might never have been hiking. It's fantastic, actually. But not the point. I can't stop thinking about where you are, even though it would pain you to know that. Funny how I can know you so well so quickly, Just Peeta. I mean, technically I barely know a thing about you except that you're desperately lonely and you have an abusive mother and your father walked out on you and you keep your favourite letters that I send in a secret place and you do everything alone and you may be hopelessly in love with me and that you'll probably never read this because I'll probably never send it and I'll lose you. Just like I lost my father. You'll leave and never return, and I'll start to feel like I failed. I failed in keeping you here-there, with me. As if, in some way; through this paper and pen you can make me think and feel. I hate you for it, of course, but at the same time, I love you for it. You're the only one that could ever phase me.

I'm going to have a picnic at the waterfall now. I can only hope you'll be there waiting for me. What a dream. Apart from the shock and anxiety attack I'll be having, I'll still hold that shaky hand you use for writing your messy letters, and look into those hollow eyes where tears well up, but are never quite able to spill over.

By the way, I will send this letter.

From Just Katniss