So, In A Way, My Name Being

Gale Is Mine. I Am His. Anything Else Is Unthinkable.

Peeta, How Come I Never Know When You're Having A Nightmare?” I Say. “i Don't Know. I Don't Think I Cry Out Or Thrash Around Or Anything. I Just Come To, Paralyzed With Terror,” He Says. “you Should Wake Me,” I Say, Thinking About How I Can Interrupt His Sleep Two Or Three Times On A Bad Night. About How Long It Can Take To Calm Me Down. “it's Not Necessary. My Nightmares Are Usually About Losing You,” He Says. “i'm Okay Once I Realize You're Here.

I Mourn My Old Life Here. We Barely Scraped By, But I Knew Where I Fit In, I Knew What My Place Was In The Tightly Interwoven Fabric That Was Our Life. I Wish I Could Go Back To It Because, In Retrospect, It Seems So Secure Compared To Now, When I Am So Rich And Famous And So Hated By The Authorities In The Capitol.

I Wrap My Arms Around His Neck, Feel His Arms Hesitate Before They Embrace Me. Not As Steady As They Once Were, But Still Warm And Strong. A Thousand Moments Surge Through Me. All The Times These Arms Were My Only Refuge From The World. Perhaps Not Fully Appreciated Then, But So Sweet In My Memory, And Now Gone For Ever.

Some Walks You Have To Take Alone.