I used to believe we'd share the world, but now we try to rip it from each other's mouth -that is, when we don't try and rip each other's throat-, and soon there will be nothing left but ashes to share. And yet, I, ever the believer, want to create a space of peace in all this whirlwind that surrounds us, because still there are reasons why my heart skips a beat, there are things that make me swoon, even in the backseat of an old bus, even alone. I planted my roses and hoped against hope that they would grow roots strong. Am I mistaken for thinking there's still a chance we can be happy? Am I foolish?