I'm So Tired, Katniss.

I Send A Silent Thank-you To Dalton For Suggesting I Wash Off The Makeup. How Ridiculous, How Perverse I Would Feel Presenting That Painted Capitol Mask To These People. The Damage, The Fatigue, The Imperfections. That's How They Recognize Me, Why I Belong To Them.

No One Will Forget Me. Not My Look, Not My Name. Katniss. The Girl Who Was On Fire.

I Drag Myself Out Of Nightmares Each Morning And Find There's No Relief In Waking.

Frankly, Our Ancestors Don't Seem Much To Brag About. I Mean, Look At The State They Left Us In, With The Wars, The Broken Planet. Clearly, They Didn't Care About What Would Happen To The People Who Came After Them.

Five Years Later I Still Wake Up Screaming For Him To Run