My name is Katniss Mellark. I am ninety-three years old. I am—was married to Peeta Mellark. He is dead. Dead.

I have lived to be old—much too old for my own good. The one man in my life that I have truly loved has succumbed to old age. Four years seems like such a long time. Too long.

Why am I not dead? I should be dead.

I miss him. I cry for him. And since he died, the nightmares have been worse. Haunting images from my first Hunger Games find me, and bring me down.

I miss Peeta.

My children have long since been married. They too, are becoming old. Azalea is already seventy-seven. Mitchell is seventy-four.

I could be reunited with the ones I love.

Haymitch (thus my son, Mitch) passed away years and years ago. Peeta and I were still young, ignorant. He was only 67—he never got to live to see our children. Doctors diagnosed his death as "associated with over-consumption of alcohol." I miss him, too.

I've had enough troubles for a lifetime.

Peeta and I were broken. We mended each other. But I think Gale never understood that. Never understood that we were broken by the Games. I loved him as a brother, nothing more. I don't think he understood that, either.

Gale loved me.

Gale moved to District 2 after the Rebellion, and Peeta and I never heard from him again, until eleven years ago. But that wasn't even hearing from him—it was hearing from his wife. I never did get his wife's name, and I never did have a normal conversation with him after the 74th Hunger Games. He passed away at the age of eighty-four.

My mother loved me.

I think she did. She and I called constantly, and she adored Peeta. We attended her funeral in District 4. But she died much too young. Peeta and I were only forty-one. She had only met our children twice.

I miss Peeta.

I realize that I miss the bread that he makes. I realize that I miss the way he comforts me in the night. I realize that I miss everything about him. He makes—made me complete. And without him, I realize that I am nothing more than an empty shell. He makes—made my life worth living. He was my comfort. And I loved—still love him more than anything else in the world.

But he is dead.

His body may be empty, but his spirit will be with every one of us until each of us passes away. I may never get to talk to him again as long as I am alive, but I know I will see him when I am dead.

We were in love.

And in love we were. We are—were the star-crossed lovers from District 12. And at first it was fake on my part. But somewhere along the way, this fakeness changed into something real.

I was so ignorant.

I was sixteen when I entered the Arena for the first time. But I had lost my innocence long before the first Games. During the rebellion, the moment I realized that I may never see Peeta, the one who loved me, protected me, again was the moment I realized that I was in love with him. So in love.

But I almost gave up hope.

I was afraid that he would not return my feelings. He had been hijacked by the Capitol. He was so far gone, I wasn't sure he would ever return to being the Peeta I knew and loved again.

But he did.

He did. It took four, five years for him to return to being the Peeta I knew and loved. But even then, he still had the flashbacks. But I was there for him. And when I woke in the night, screaming, he was there for me.

We were the star-crossed lovers from District 12.

That's how it all began.

But now it is over.

It is not over; it will never truly be over. I still have the pearl that Peeta gave to me in the 3rd Quarter Quell. I hang on to this, because my love for him will never truly ebb.

Never?

I like to think that it will never be over. We are human. And I have realized, since even before Peeta passed away, that I would have chosen him (in the end) over any man no matter what the course of events preceding that were.

Always?

Always. We will always be the star-crossed lovers from District 12, no matter what the circumstances. Our love is undying. Forever. And when I see him again, in the afterlife, or in another lifetime, I like to think that we will find our way to falling in love all over again.

I miss Peeta.

As I fall asleep, my world drifts into blackness.

I am dead.

And I see Peeta, standing in the doorway to the bakery, his blonde hair (so much like how it was when we were young) rather long. He sees me, and the corners of his mouth tilt upwards. We are young again—back to being twenty-two.

We are in District 12.

And he asks me, "You love me. Real or not real?"

I reply just like how I did the first time he asked me this. "Real."

So this is the afterlife.

And I decide I love it.

I missed Peeta.

But he is right here, young and healthy. We will be together. Always.

"You know, you could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve him."

I know, Haymitch. But I will take him, because I love him, and he loves me.

I'm just selfish like that.