#the disillusionment is so strong sometimes now and it just brings me to tears how powerless i am

[leaving-fragments]

i elected a module on climate change that starts after reading week and i decided to do the class prep of watching a ted talk on tipping points today... i started crying halfway through, of course, and i'm now wondering why i thought it was a good idea to choose a university class specifically on climate change when i know that it makes me extremely emotional and weepy

[razzzmatazz]

I know I did something like this a while ago but that was more of a characters I relate to, which isn’t really right for me. I don’t really have any characters I relate to when I think about it, but I definitely have ones that inspire me to be a better person.

So that’s kinda what this is. 

These characters have always stuck with me, having a special place in my heart and helping keep my mind strong. They all have strengths, or something special about them that inspires me to have or make the same strength. 

Kagome Higurashi: From one of the first animes I watched. I remember staying up late every single night before to catch Inuyasha when it would air late on Adult Swim. If anyone could put a picture on kindness, it would be her. I was always amazed by just how kind she was to everyone she ever met, and helped bring out kindness in other people. There’s many other positive things about Kagome, but that’s always what I was drawn to and wanted to be like.

Shanks: From the very first episode, I wanted to be like him. Shanks always put his friends first, not really caring what happened to himself. That, and some of his quotes just really speak to me. 

“By experiencing both victory and defeat, running away and shedding tears, a man will become a man. It's okay to cry, but you have to move on.” 

There’s several other good quotes from him, but this one sticks out to me. It’s stuff like this that helps give me strength. He even inspires other characters in the show, how can I not be inspired by him?

Sunset Shimmer: Actually, I lied. If there’s anyone I relate to it’s Sunset. She’s done some pretty bad things in her past but was allowed a chance at redemption and took it. She never really understood what friends were before that, and now she tries to help others that had been like her. Either falling down that same path or already on it. She’s one of the characters that gives me hope, telling me that-- yeah, you did some fucked up stuff, but you have to make it better. Try and be better, show you’re better to those who helped pull you up.

Sabo: To have a cause to stand for and the strength to stand up for it is something that’s always inspired me. Something I was I could do and try so hard to be like. I’ve spent a lot of my life being silent, letting things just happen and not speaking up when people needed me to. I don’t want to be like that anymore. And whether it’s a call for justice or my friends, I have something I can stand up for now.

Raimundo Pedrosa: Rai’s a bit different from the others on here. He’s one of those characters you grow up with, learning as they do. When you first see him, he’s cocky, a bit full of himself, and was very quick to fight without thinking. As you go along with him though, he learns from his mistakes, takes time to study his team and enemies, stand up and be a leader. He learns that doing the right thing isn’t always the easiest choice, having joined the enemies side several times to take the easy way out, and that doing the right thing requires sacrifice sometimes. He had to earn becoming leader, but there wasn’t anyone better suited for it in the end.

Kiki: Kiki makes me think of one of my favorite quotes from Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. 

“There's nothing terribly wrong with feeling lost, so long as that feeling precedes some plan on your part to actually do something about it. Too often a person grows complacent with their disillusionment, perpetually wearing their "discomfort" like a favorite shirt. I can't say I'm very pleased with where my life is just now... but I can't help but look forward to where it's going. “

Although she’s a much more PG representation of that than Johnny is. She knows who she is and what she wants to be. Somewhere along the way though.. she looses herself. Can’t fly anymore and can’t understand Gigi. Her magic is gone and it takes a lot of searching to get it back. She gives the message and inspiration to try, try, and just keep trying. Setting out on your own can be scary, and there’s going to be setbacks, but you can do it.

Asakura Yoh: Yoh’s another favorite from some of the first shows I watched. He’s carefree and very laidback, much different from everyone else on here. But that’s good sometimes I think. Worrying about too much stuff can stress a person to death. It’s important to find a balance between keeping a relaxed attitude and just plain old not caring. He’s always been positive, had a positive attitude and that’s something I want to have as well.

Mulan: Putting family first, even when they don’t put you first can be hard. And I know it’s a time period thing but it still happens. A lot of what inspires me is just the amount of bravery and strength she shows. I’ve never really been the one that people would think could be brave, but I’d like to be. I want to be able to find that courage and do something with it.

[vesperthine]

will it wash out in the water (or is it always in the blood)

one day i’ll write fluff. this is not that day. lots of love to @junkshop-disco for being a beta and providing helpful thoughts ♡

Even asks him, and everything sort of stops.

Tapping the joint on the cold stone, Isak scrunches one eye up. “Haven’t really thought about it,” he says. “What about it?”

They’re huddled together out on the balcony. Watching, on an impulse of the best kind, a rainstorm and sharing a beer, a smoke ( – weed for him; tobacco for Even – ) and a blanket between them. Thunder rolls in the distance; the rain patters like gun fire against the roof and the tarmac below.

Even’s eyebrows go up, watching with that careful intensity that Isak won’t ever get used to ( – will forever want to bask in, like a cat on a window sill – ). “Nothing, just thinking it’d be nice, later,” he says, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “To have a little thing running around.”

His long fingers run in the air, then up Isak’s arm to his shoulder. Squinting, Isak takes a drag of the joint, sweet smoke billowing out in the drizzle. There’s a slight pressure behind his lungs: one that stays even as the air leaves them.

“But not before you’ve gotten a job, though. Tips won’t cover those expenses.”

“Yeah,” Isak says, slowly, scratching his ear. “But – kids don’t like me, just so you know.”

The words seem distant, spoken from a mouth ( – with jagged teeth and a void for a throat – ) that’s not his own. Another swig of beer. It’s lukewarm by now, but it does the job of washing out the taste of the joint. The pressure stays.

Even’s face goes sort of blank ( – and there’s a tug in his stomach, like tipping over a precipice, going into free fall – ) before he smiles an eye-crinkling smile and tucks Isak’s head in under his chin. “Ours would,” he says, as he shakes his shoulder. “It’s impossible not to.”

“Maybe,” Isak smiles back ( – tries to smooth this over, what the fuck is this – ) at him. “Let’s start with a dog, though. Less of a mess.”

Even’s leans back to get a better look at Isak’s face. “A dog?”

“I’ve had a dog,” Isak says with confidence, and swipes his nose when Even still looks doubtful. “I’ll know what I’m doing!”

Even laughs then, loud and joyous ( – and some air flows in, loosens the tension – ) “I thought you got Lea from your aunt?”

“We did? She couldn’t keep her because of work, so we got her as a two-year-old. What about it?”

“I know you took care of her. All I’m saying is that you’ve never dealt with a full-on puppy. And, from what I’ve heard, they’re messier than a kid. Pees in the bed, chews up your shoes – ”

“Fine, fine!” Isak says, shoving him playfully, laughing to keep up the lightheartedness ( – avoiding the edge he can’t figure out where it is, fumbling in the dark with hands outstretched, hoping he doesn’t get cut – ). “Doesn’t need to be a puppy. You can get older rescues, which, by the way, is better for the karma account.”

“It is.” 

Even smiles, but somehow, it only leaves Isak wishing he had more beer.

Suddenly, the sky is lit up by lightning. The sound rattles the windows, making Even startle beside him and then laugh at his own ridiculousness. His eyes go thin with joy as he pulls Isak into his warm, solid side and they share a chaste kiss tasting of nothing but beer and crackling static; Even’s hand gripping his hair so tight his scalp prickles.

And Isak wants to give him everything; his whole damn being if he could.

A lot of what they have is a defying of expectations. They fell in love too quickly, moved out too early, matured too fast. Despite all of that, everything somehow works out fine. They talk more than most couples their age; they’re too keenly aware of each other's weaknesses to let it be and there’s no disillusionment, because that curtain was ripped open in that first week, showing it all ( – the heaviness, the ugliness in them both, always on display, like a war memorial – ) and it never closed again.

It is a normal question: an expected one. He doesn’t need to think about here and now; not with Even’s arm around his back and his fingers skirting his waistband; not here, with the rain against the roof and the air filled with oxygen and the distant rumbles of Oslo behind their building.

So, inevitably, he does.

Visiting the old house is exhausting.

He’s tired before he even gets off the tram. There’s just something about stepping into this house and noticing that it has a different scent now ( – hits that he’s actually been away so long that the inherent smell of this house isn’t categorized as home anymore – ) that brings back thoughts he doesn’t like to think about, but does anyway.

Like how the whole situation is a tragedy; one reinforced by Mother’s Day adverts, the complete dependency on public transport and the knowledge that he truly has replaced them with Even, kollektivet, and a bunch of other clueless teens. That he took the choice and left, knowing she needed him, but that he couldn’t do anything about it. Like how his father was and continues to be even more worthless in that aspect; entertaining for even a second that a sixteen-year-old could do a better job than a grown man.

The visits help with the guilt and the anger. Somewhat. Makes it a little easier to deal with; relieves some of the pressure. He makes himself go once a month, just to check in. For her sake, Even’s – and a bit for his own.

Marianne has been taking her medication, and is in a good mood. His dad’s text is from two days ago, but it’s confirmed when he steps inside; the house smelling clean and no mail littering the welcome mat. It makes it a bit easier ( – less heartstopping, less flashback triggering, less terrifying – ) to enter. When she sees him, she hugs him and her eyes are clear and focused as she watches him with reverence; holds his face in her hands for a moment too long before letting go.

There’s still pictures of him left on the walls in the hallway, and he avoids looking at them; his own smiling face, her, his father and even Lea’s black, blurry presence in the background of some. All to avoid them reminding him of a time before it all went to shit ( – but it was always a bit shit, wasn’t it, just hidden underneath a veil of make-pretend and he hasn’t truly forgiven either of them has he? – ) as he toes off his shoes and puts them on the shoe rack.

He knows it’s not her fault, and that she does love him. Always has, and always will, because he is her son. And she’s his mother. So, it should be mutual, shouldn’t it?

But, it’s not that easy. It’s a lie to say it was never that bad. After many a night of hushed conversations, Isak now knows that what he went through is a sort of trauma in and of itself; something he’ll carry with him for the rest of his life.

He might’ve survived, but that’s not bravery: leaving someone behind to save yourself, that is. Someone like Even is strong ( – to come back to the same place, the same body, and bear it after something like that – ) and Isak isn’t. That’s just fact. Not even now, when Isak knows where he belongs. He can grow where the odds are against him, through malnourishment, wear and tear, but it’s just not the same.

There’s a big difference between resilience and strength, after all.

She’s made tea, and her hands are shaking slightly as she pours it into his mug and then her own. “Where’s – how’s Even doing?” she asks, eyes skittering around, not staying put.

Taking a bite of the sandwiches she’s also cut up, Isak shrugs. “He’s – he’s good. Says hi.”

She seems to steel herself for a moment, gaze flitting out through the blinds and onto the street outside. Following her gaze, there’s a couple of young girls biking up the little hill; giving each other rides on the luggage carriers.

“You should bring him sometime. I’d love to meet him.”

Swallowing, Isak nods. It’s the first time she’s asked, and his first instinct is to lie. Tell her that Even’s really busy with school and work, and that he’s not at home at this instant, pacing or distracting himself so that he can drop everything and hold Isak for a while when he gets home ( – absolutely emotionally drained from upholding this mask shielding his crushing guilt and the horrible fact that while he doesn’t hate his parents, he sure doesn’t love them anymore, either – )

He couldn’t uphold it with Even here; that’s just something he knows.  So, he settles for the middle ground. 

“I’ll ask him.”

She smiles at him, small but still there, and nods. “Please do. He seems like a nice boy.”

Even asked him, before, if he wanted kids, and everything in Isak just screamed please no.

When the question had come out of Even’s mouth, a too easily awoken thing inside of him had raised its head, thrashing and snarling and he doesn’t ( – does, though, it’s just that he simply can’t say or even articulate it in his mind, too abstract but oh so potent – ) know why. They are a success story, in so many ways; a paragon of overcoming the things people refuse to deal with or talk about. Having kids would be ideal, within a relationship like theirs, would prove a lot of people wrong, but –

Isak doesn’t even want to try.

They’re in bed; him curled around Even’s body, trying to trick his own anxious mind into sleep for the fourth time this week, when it slips out. It has sat in in his throat like a glass shard ever since the visit home; jagged and hopeless and causing as much damage coming up as going down.

“Even?”

A grunt; an onomatopoeia for please, try to go to sleep Isak.

“I don’t think I want kids.”

Even’s breathing stops for a moment and Isak wants nothing else but to go back ( – sink back into that previous reality, let the escapism wash over him – ). It never gets easier; being stuck in the liminal space of ignorance and knowing the outcome.

Under his hand, Even’s ribcage expands, and then collapses again. “Oh?”

Isak closes his eyes, brushes his nose against the topmost knob of his spine. “Yeah.”

“You know you don’t have to think about that now, though? I was just curious, before.”

“I know. But, it’s true, and I don’t think it’s going to change.”

Even turns his head to catch his eye. “Can I ask why?” he asks after a moment, voice rasping and low with sleep, and the free fall feeling in Isak’s chest comes back with a punch. It’s not just a simple question. It holds so much more weight than Even probably even realises.

It’s not even jealousy. It’s something entirely different. Isak’s keenly aware that Even’s parents are very human; has seen it up close in the form of frustrated phone calls, in texts from a worried father, unwanted reminders for the blood tests and in the edges in Even’s voice at dinners when his mother oversteps yet again.

Still, they didn’t give up. They learned and adapted as their son spiralled in front of their eyes to the point where they almost ( – in the bathroom, Isak, not that he is likely to go for it again, but don’t let him lock the door, darling, I really don’t want you to find him like that, it changes you as a person – ) lost him. They answer on the third ring in the middle of the night, pay more than half of their rent, and even though there is some roughness, there’s no doubt that Even’s parents make him their first priority, and they always will.

Thinking about the photos still up in his mother’s hallway, about how much of her and his father is still and forever somewhere inside him, breathing gets a little harder to do. Isak shifts, puts his cheek on Even’s shoulder, breathes him in; all freshly washed cotton, boy sweat and just that smell of home and safety.

“I just don’t want to ruin this,” he whispers, closing his eyes again.

Even makes an incredulous noise, turning onto his back to look at him. “What?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles straight into the worn fabric of Even’s shirt, not fast enough to swallow it down. “It just would.”

“Hey. Isak?”

Even’s voice is serious, and when he strokes his shoulder, soothing, Isak swallows again.

“I don’t want them to grow up like I did,” he whispers.

The arm around his shoulder locks up. “What are you trying to say?” Even asks, a beat too late and Isak bites his lip, knowing he fucked up. Even is stiff like a board, a held back edge in his voice ( – they match now, jagged words in both their mouths – ). “Just because your parents couldn’t handle it, means we’re doomed too?”

“No – ”

“Then what, Isak?”

Whatever this is, bubbling and itching under his skin, it’s contagious, spreading like blood in water. “I just – I guess I think it’s selfish,” he deflects.

Even goes quiet. “It’s selfish to adopt a child no one wants?”

Sighing, Isak drags himself from his stiff embrace and sits up against the wall. Clicks on the bedside lamp. His right foot sticks out from under the blanket, and he wiggles his toes; watching the shadows they make on the floor in the light. “No. But, I think it’s – I mean, you’ve put more thought into getting a dog. You’re basically getting a human being to groom for your own enjoyment. Because of something you want. Not for them.”

“Is that what you think?” Even asks, and this harsh disbelief is not playful, not even close. Isak bites the inside of his lip; taking comfort in the taste of his own blood. It’s better to fight about this than the real thing. “Adoption isn’t like that – it’s a hassle. People do it because they truly want a child, you know?”

“But that doesn't change why you want it in the first place,” Isak says, quiet. Because this feels like an actual fight, and being calm when it’s important is the little thing that separates functioning from disaster. “My parents didn’t have me because they wanted me. They wanted something to care for apart from themselves, and when it all fell apart, I was just – expected to want to take care of everything, too.”

The glass shard slips down a few notches and the pressure behind his lungs suddenly bursts and blooms out, tender like a bruise. Like a project, a child can be a last ditch attempt to save something already unsalvageable ( –  and if you focus your energy right, then your marriage can get another sixteen years added to its lifespan, even though it’s having death spasms from the day you’re born and causing your mother’s first psychosis – )

Both of them might love him, but sometimes you’re just too selfish to love someone back after they hurt you badly enough.

“You don’t think you’re projecting a bit now?” Even ask after a long while, sounding hollow. “That’s your experience; doesn’t mean it’s universal. Magnus’ mother manages just fine. She loves him and his sister so much, and – they function, Isak.”

Instantly, Isak hates himself. He closes his eyes. “This isn’t about you, okay?”

“What is it about, then?” Even’s voice is so soft, it’s almost inaudible. “Because I don’t like what you’re implying now. Not one bit.”

He is right there, radiating warmth, but his eyes are haunted. Isak wiggles his toes some more, air rushing between them. Getting what he truly feels off his tongue is still a struggle, and sometimes Even does him a disservice with letting his lies and deflections slide until they all crack open in his throat and spill out in ugly, chopped up truths.

“It’s just – I don’t want to be responsible for hurting anyone, okay?”

“You’re not really doing a good job of that right now, just so you know.”

Looking up from his foot, Isak snaps his head back towards him. Even is twisting his mouth, the harshness all gone; his eyes trained on the duvet and his large hands

“It’s not –” Isak tries, reaching out a hand towards him. “I’m –  I choose to, Even. It’s not because of some sort of obligation. Family makes it – it’s just, children shouldn’t have to stay, for any reason, because that makes them resent their parents like you wouldn’t believe and – and then, if they do leave, for their own sake, they can’t stop hating themselves for letting them down and – ”

He stops. Swallows. It stings behind his eyes now, and there’s nowhere to hide apart from behind his own hands. So he rubs his eyes, just to be able to breathe.

“If we do it right, they wouldn’t want to leave,” Even says, still as quiet as before. “You make it sound as if this will blow up, no matter what we do. That’s not true. We can have exactly the life we want.”

“But I don’t want to,” Isak finally makes out, swallowing back the growing lump ( – truth, the inevitable truth, call it what it is – ) in his throat. “It’s just – I can’t. I can’t be responsible for more – ”

“More? You mean me. You’re not responsible for – ”

“But I am,” Isak says, breathing harsh and too loud in this room ( – the glass shatters in his throat, cuts up his gums and crunches between his teeth – ). “And you’re just as responsible for my well-being, Even, and I – choose to be here with you, I want to be with you, and no one else, and I don’t want to bring someone in here that didn’t choose to be here! I just –  why can’t this be enough? Why can’t I be enough, for once?”

He doesn’t plan on the next breath going in through his nose to turn into a sob. It’s so unexpected, four nights of no sleep catching him completely off-guard, that he freezes for a moment, then harshly wipes the tears away before they can fall. “Fuck’s sake.”

Even doesn’t say anything; just looks at him for a long while. Where his jaw was set in that subtly defiant way of his, it goes softer the longer the silence stretches out; Isak’s laboured breath the only sound left. Then, he seems to see something in Isak’s eyes, and in an instant, his beautiful face crumples; eyes glistening a bit in the light from the bedside lamp.

“C’mere.”

Crawling on his hands and knees, Isak tumbles sideways ( – grey, free fall feeling coming to an end as he catches him – ) into Even’s open arms.

“You’re my baby, okay?” Even breathes into his ear, clutching him close and rocking him back and forth. “Of course you’re enough. Fuck, Isak, I’m sorry.”

Isak holds back just as tight; his nails digging into the Even’s back. “I just – I don’t want to,” he mumbles into his neck, throat clamped around that small, leftover kernel of truth ( – wanting to pour every cell of his being into him, knowing he will be there for him in return, and that never changing because there’s nothing but choice anchoring them to each other, making it so much more, because what could be more than this, this state of being, this chosen commitment to togetherness – ). “You’d be a great dad, but I don’t want to.”

“It’s okay.” Even puts his lips to his forehead. “You don’t have to. That’s okay. ”

Into the white cotton of Even’s t-shirt, Isak mumbles, “Is it, though?”

“I would never force you to do something like that.”

Swallowing, and so glad he doesn’t need to look at his face, Isak says, “But won't you feel like you're missing out?”

A hand goes into his hair. “A bit, perhaps?” Even’s voice is all contemplation and honesty.

Isak nods. “Okay.”

Kissing his neck, Even shakes his head. “No, listen. Sure, it’s something I’d like to do, but I wanted to do it with you. But it’s not the most important thing in the world. And our friends will probably have kids. I mean, Yousef said he and Sana might be aiming for twelve so, you know. They’ll probably need a tiny bit of help.”

Isak tries and fails to suppress a smile against his neck at the casual tone, and Even ruffles his hair.

“It’s really okay. You still up for a dog, though?”

Touching his nose to Even’s, Isak remembers a time when Lea was still alive and his mother had a particularly bad episode; thinking he was the bringer of the rapture. He’d been fifteen, his dad away on a business trip for the week, and when she’d finally stopped screaming and gone to bed, Lea had pushed open his bedroom door, and then slept beside him all night; a wall of black fur and slow breathing between him and his mother’s hallucinations.

“Yeah,” he whispers into Even’s mouth. “I can share you with a dog.”

Even breathes back. “Good,” he says.

“I want a rescue, though.”

“For that karma account?” Even jokes, and Isak nods.

“It’s always good to be in the positive there.”

At that, Even tilts his head back and Isak loves him. He gives a lot more than he takes and at times, Isak can’t help but wonder if he is taking care of him at the expense of his own wishes. But, if it’s something he’s learned from this whole thing they’ve got, is that he can’t know and shouldn’t speculate until Even tells him with his own words. 

Which he will.

So, taking the invitation, Isak kisses him, chaste and quick with a hand in Even’s hair; his apology transferring with the touch. His heart's still racing and there’s another collection of words waiting in his chest, but ( – the edges are smooth and he can hold on to them, tightly, now – ) it feels alright.

Nothing they can’t handle, when it comes.

“It is.”

[georgiabocanegra]

My open letter...

This is just a simple letter, one that holds pieces of my pain and also of my faith...These are just a series of sentences strung together and addressed to the holder of the fragmented pieces of my heart. They are just words, words that mean different things to different people.This simple message will probably make you think of someone. That someone isn’t my someone, but he held the same power over you. He kissed you with the same intense brilliance that captivated you so deeply. He looked at you in a way that stirred a place inside your soul you hadn’t known existed. He told you that he loved you, and that you’re beautiful and you believed him. He isn’t the same man, but to him you cry the same words.You and I are also different, but we are the same. We have the same heart, or rather what is left of it, and for that reason I hope this letter brings you some kind of complex sense of comfort.I hope it also gives you a faith in love that I have established in the rubble of my lost relationship. I suppose that makes this “simple letter” rather complicated. That is because the unending power of love itself is the only piece of life that is truly simple.Words are beautiful. To produce them, I allow my fingers to move. These movements then deliver my thoughts and emotions into the minds of human beings who cannot be reached by the sound of my voice.I think it’s time for me to start understanding that you are now just one of those people who is out of my reach. So here are a few words to the man I no longer know and cannot seem to find. Let me explain to you what it feels like to be told you are perfect in every way and will always be taken care of. Let me convey the emotions that rip through a young woman like myself when she is convinced she is someone’s forever and he won’t let go of her. Let me express the hope and loyalty that is instilled inside of a girl who built up wall after wall only to feel as though they were peacefully torn down by a man who pulled her deeply into his love. I cannot formulate those emotions into words the same way I cannot describe the way it felt to have you rip that all to pieces.I want you to know, that I loved you very much. I loved you through every emotional part of the roller coaster you have brought into my life. I loved you on the days that you were pleasant and kind and also the days you were unrecognisable to me. I loved you through changing circumstance and the rapid movement of time. I even loved you when you decided that you didn’t love me anymore and can’t fight for me at all. I think a part of me still loves you while I sit here in the darkness, face hot with tears and disillusionment. But what I want you to know most is that I still love myself, and I still know what love really is.The difference between you and I is that my love is constant. It is a love that is deep inside my soul and gives restoration to my faith in other people. It is a love that was never taught when I was a little girl. People in this world are going to hurt me. They have, and they will again. They will love me and they will hate me. Sometimes they will do both, as you have decided to do.Love is not something that is cast aside and broken. It is something that resides safely inside each and every one of us if we choose to recognise it. It is a tool for forgiveness and strength. It is faith, when we lose it in humanity. It is being able to see our own beauty and potential, even when others make those things feel non-existent. Love is a perpetual joy that saves us when all hope feels lost. Love is not something that you can take from me.You have broken my heart, but you have not broken my love I know you have it too, deep inside of you, and my love allows me to genuinely hope that you will understand it one day.There is only one simple concept, and that is that love is the most powerful entity in the world. So, I will probably allow a few more tears to fall down tonight in your honour. I will most likely shed more when I listen to a song we used to sing or see something I know would make you smile.But I will be OK.I will be OK because the love inside me is strong and true. I will be OK because no matter how many people trample on my heart, they will never take my love. No one can, not even you.With love,Written by Georgia Bocanegra