I Can Win But You Cant Lose,

I Go Back To My Room And Lie Under The Covers, Trying Not To Think Of Gale And Thinking Of Nothing Else.

For Me, It's Better To Wake Up With A Paintbrush Than A Knife In My Hand. -peeta

One More Time? For The Audience?" He Says. His Voice Isn't Angry. It's Hollow, Which Is Worse. Already The Boy With The Bread Is Slipping Away From Me. I Take His Hand, Holding On Tightly, Preparing For The Cameras, And Dreading The Moment When I Will Finally Have To Let Go.

Remember That Even In War There Is A Time For Restraint. A Time To Hold Back Your Sword.

I'm Relieved Peeta's Alive. I Tell Myself Again That If I Get Killed, His Winnings Will Benefit My Mother And Prim The Most. This Is What I Tell Myself To Explain The Conflicting Emotions That Arise When I Think Of Peeta. The Gratitude That He Game An Edge By Professing His Love For Me In The Interview. The Anger At His Superiority On The Roof. The Dread That We May Come Face-to-face At Any Moment In This Arena.