…I’m someone who’s mostly dead inside but still has a little hope for something extraordinary, which, as I said, is the worst breed of human, because it means I know everything is bullshit, but that I secretly hope for the day when it might not be.
“I remember everything about you,” says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”
“Let’s start with something more basic. Isn’t it strange that I know you’d risk your life to save mine… but I don’t know what your favorite color is?” he says.
“You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”
reasons i tend to not talk
- people always interrupt me to tell another story because apparently my story isn’t good enough for their ears
- i sound like an idiot who just learned to talk two hours ago
- people seem disinterested in what i’m saying
- i hate my voice
- i have something really mean to say
- i hate you
- i repeat because this happens a lot: people interrupt me and never let me finish and i feel really shitty about myself because no one seems to want to listen to me