"It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I'm so upset. When I do, it's almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly.
And I hate him for it."
Sometimes I Katniss...sometimes I seem to completely identify with her. I tend to expect more than I should and I'm terribly selfish. Except it's worse, because I don't have her discipline or power or desperation, not yet. Nor have I suffered from trauma at all really.
But as I do with every single book that I read, I cannot help but try to find myself in her, the protagonist, even if I have to stretch things. With each chapter I grow more love as well as more grief for this strong yet absolutely vulnerable girl. I struggle between jealousy and desperation of her circumstances.
And I know that even though she's fictional, even though I will forget vital yet extremely subtle details from the books, and even though I'll re-watch, come to love, and then eventually remember what's missing from the movies to come... I'll always consider Katniss and the rest of her story as a friend, the same way a drive-in movie, broken soda bottle, and mustang cars always remind me of Ponyboy Curtis.
In the same way some people are moved by music, the way it conjures memories (both bitter and sweet) and moves them to feel and to act, books target something deep within my heart, especially if it's a book I share with people dear to me.
And since it's nearly 3 in the morning I am not hardly making sense, but in my mind still so distracted by the story I've just finished that only leads me to remember that Peeta was always the one who could manipulate words (and the hearts that hear) them so well.
Goodness grief, either I really need sleep, I'm am such a dork, and/or I seriously need to do something more productive and fast.
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