The train from the Capitol with all our supplies came. I now had all my baking ingredients back. As soon as I got back, I headed to my kitchen and began making cheese buns. Oh, how can so many memories be a part of one simple recipe? Cheese buns. I gave them to Katniss when she was hurt, they were Katniss's favorite recipe of mine, my dad taught me how to make them the day I first saw Katniss. Before I knew it, quiet tears were strolling down my face. I tried to collect myself, but the stream was continuing. Maybe it was because I missed the old times, when I was so sure of myself and of my feelings. Now, I was just a confused mess who didn't even know who he was. But, I trudged on with my recipe with clumsy movements. Perhaps baking could become some sort of therapy for me.

As soon as I was finished, I placed the steaming cheese buns on a tray and headed outside. Despite my somewhat dreary mood, the day was promising, warm, and joyful. What month was it? June, I remembered. I walked the short distance to Katniss's house and placed the cheese buns on the front doorstep with a note.

Katniss,

Made you these cheesebuns. I still remember that these are your favorites. Enjoy.

P

I hoped she would enjoy them and find it in her heart to forgive me. I have wronged her. Trying to kill her and just being a pain to be around. I do want to mend my relationship with Katniss. Because, deep down in the abyss of my soul, I know that there is a small place that still holds my original feelings for her. Love. When I was younger, I held Katniss on a pedestal and thought of her as being a perfect human being, doing no wrong. Once I got to know her, I saw her flaws – obstinate, reserved, unforgiving, even a little selfish at times – but I loved her the same. I accepted her. And I hope I can do that again.

I went to bed that night, feeling a bit more at peace with myself. I hope those cheesebuns made her realize I haven't completely shut her out. But, that night, I heard her screaming. Nightmares, I knew. I could hear from her wails that she was crying, sobbing for some reason. I could make out one sentence:

"No – Prim, don't go, I'm so sorry!"

Katniss still felt guilty for Prim's death. I knew that hit her hard. I talked to Haymitch and she still hasn't left the house since she came back. Just then, a thought came to me. We are broken, yes. We won't fully recover, yes. But perhaps we could pick up the broken pieces we call our lives and help each other heal. Together? Together.