Peeta has left the house early due to this thing called "spring rush" with the cakes and cupcakes. And he is still at the bakery. At least he has a few assistants there to help him with the overflow of the bakery. He dropped the mail off on the kitchen counter for me. I take one quick look and find his name.
My fingertips run over the white envelope. My skin touching where his pen ran across the page, writing his address. Then writing mine.
I walk over to the wooden desk in front of the window. I slowly drop myself on the wooden chair, my eyes are stuck on the letter the whole time.
How long have I been sitting on this wooden chair? An hour or two. I don't know. The letter fixates between my fingers. My thumb runs across the smooth paper, right over the words I never forgot. I can smell the smoke that once glued onto his body.
Gale's body.
Tears flood the rims of my eyes. I blink them away. I realize how long it has been since I've made any sort of communication with the hunter. My best friend.
Catnip,
How long it has been since he called me that? My chest aches. My first instinct is to go to the bakery. Talk to Peeta about this. But this is about Gale.
It's been a while since I called you that, huh? I don't think you'll forgive me. You know I didn't intend on dropping the bombs on the Capitol children.
No, I don't blame him for her death. I can't. It's like blaming the person who manufactured weapon. Not the person behind the handle or the trigger or the quiver.
I created the bombs, but I didn't know Coin was going to drop them in the Capitol, where the Capitol children were. I know I said the Capitol people deserved to have less than what they have, but I didn't mean to kill the children. I wanted our country to be equal. No more Games. Have the Capitol give the districts some food in the state of starvation for once. All I wanted was justice. Obviously, Coin didn't send that message out to the world correctly.
I pull the hem of my shirt over my lips, biting down on the cotton. I shut my eyes tight to the darkness. To have the letter between my fingertips. From Gale.
Don't cry, I command myself. He wouldn't want to see you cry.
Anyway, it was hard to write this letter, considering the fact that I've scribbled, scratched, crumpled up thousands of pieces of paper before this one. This letter is longer than I thought.
I miss you, Katniss. I don't expect you to miss me back. How's life in District 12? How's Peeta? Your kids? You don't have to write me back. It would be nice, though. Just to hear how it's going. Your life.
That's all I have to say for now. I hope everything is well. Take care.
And the letter ends there.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and loosen my teeth around the shirt, letting it drop back under my neck.
I miss you, Gale.