I sit at the ruins of what used to be the fence, staring out at the Meadow. Behind me, I can't see much of the home I knew in my memories. But out there, it's exactly the same as it was before. Nature knows what to do, even when humans don't. It knows the way things should be.

"I knew I would you find you here." I don't bother turning around. I already know who it is. The voice is calm, like a sunset.

Peeta sits down next to me, but it's not the same as before. We're not star-crossed lovers or fearless tributes. We're just two people trying to find our way back to what we knew.

I look at him as he watches the sun set in the Meadow, and try to superimpose his face onto the one I dreamt about. It doesn't work. He doesn't need the handcuffs now, but he's not the same. This Peeta is battered and bruised, perhaps beyond repair. His gaze is harder, made of steel. He isn't blinded by love anymore. He can see me clearly now, in all my ugliness.

Still, I lean my head on his shoulder because it's automatic, like blinking or breathing. He stiffens, probably fighting off shiny images, but the tension passes and he puts an arm around me like he used to. I have never missed him as much as I do now.

"I remember when I first met you," he whispers. I glance up at his same-but-different eyes. "You had on a red dress, and when you stood in front of the class to sing the valley song, all the birds fell silent for you. Real or not real?" he asks.

"Real," I say. "Or at least you used to think so." I don't think he's ever seen me cry, or fall apart. But I'm not the same person I was either.

He wipes a tear off with his finger, brushing my cheeks dry. His hands move slowly, on straddling the line between caressing me and hurting me. "They tried to make me forget," he whispers. "But I couldn't. Not completely." Behind the strain in his eyes, I see the boy with the bread again. The boy in the cave. The boy on the beach.

I can see what it's like to not know who you are or who you loved. I can see how disorienting it is for him. But slowly, in bits and pieces, Peeta is coming back to me.

"I'll help you remember," I whisper. And we sit until the dusk draws a hazy curtain over the sky.

This time, we're broken, fragmented. But now there are no pretenses in the way. We know each other for who we really are. Maybe, this time, without the cameras and the delusions and the unconditional love, we can build something real.