I cover my face with my arms because this isn't happening. It isn't possible. For someone to make Peeta forget he loves me . . . no one can do that.

“We're fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self destru…”

“What about you?""Not a clue. I keep wishing I could bake a cake or something.”

“I'm on a frosting sailboat, tossed around by blue-green waves, the deck shiftin…”

“But more words tumble out. 'You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep…”