"Katniss?" He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. "It was all for the Games," Peeta says. "How you acted." "Not all of it," I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. "Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says. "I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none's forthcoming. "Well, let me know when you work it out," he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

They more than do their work, they take pride in it. Like Cinna.

On and on we seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count.

and when he kissed me i didn't know what to do.

I see now that the circumstances of ones birth are irrelevent. it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are

What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.

You know what I miss? More than anything? Coffee. -- Plutarch Heavensbee