“This time of year, I live and breathe the beach. My cheeks feel raw with the wind throwing sand against them. My thighs sting from the friction ofthe saddle. My arms ache from holding up two thousand pounds of horse. I have forgotten what it is like to be warm and what a full night’s sleep feels like and what my name sounds like spoken instead of shouted across yards of sand.I am so, so alive.”

“I can’t sleep,” he says so quietly that only I can hear. “I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep.”“Nor I.”“You neither?”“No.”“Truly?”“Yes.”He sighs a deep sigh, as if he is relieved. “Is this love then?”“I suppose so.”“I can’t eat.”“No.”“I can’t think of anything but you. I can’t go on another moment like this; I can’t ride out into battle like this. I am as foolish as a boy. I am mad for you, like a boy. I cannot be without you; I will not bewithout you. Whatever it costs me.”I can feel my color rising like heat in my cheeks, and for the first time in days I can feel myself smile. “I can’t think of anything but you,” I whisper. “Nothing. I thought I was sick.”The ring like a crown is heavy in my pocket, my headdress is pulling at my hair; but I stand without awareness, seeing nothing but him, feeling nothing but his warm breath on my cheek and scentingthe smell of his horse, the leather of his saddle, and the smell of him: spices, rosewater, sweat.“I am mad for you,” he says.I feel my smile turn up my lips as I look into his face at last. “And I for you,” I say quietly. “Truly.”

“You're alive," I whisper, pressing my palms against my cheeks, feeling the smile that's so wide it must look like a grimace. Peeta's alive.”

“Music is what feelings sound like out loud. I sing songs that speak from my heart. They tell my story, how I feel.”

“I feel my heart ache, but I've forgotten what that feeling means.”

“But he was here. In my bed. His body warm and hard and feeling so much like home that I ached.”