Amour

You stole my heart
Yeah you packed it up
And took it away from me
You stole my heart

Yeah it followed you up on the train
When you left me
Yeah you stole my heart
And I want it back

So please come back to me
Life was going on just fine
Until you decided you didn't want to be mine
You gave back all the things I'd given you

But kept the things you'd stolen
My hopes my dreams
And the most important thing
My heart

You stole my heart
Yeah you packed it up
And took it away from me
You stole my heart

Yeah it followed you up on the train
When you left me
You stole my heart
And I want it back

So please come back to me
Why are you doing this?
When you know I'll love you to death
I don't want anyone but you to possess me

I'd chosen you to give my heart to
You stole my heart
Yeah you packed it up
And took it away from me

You stole my heart
It followed you up on the train
When you left me
You stole my heart
And I want it back
So please come back to me. . . . .

- Harmony

I heard this song for the first time the other evening, and I suppose I was in a meloncholy mood because it really triggered a chain of thoughts that I've tried to organize over the last few days. Love does that sort of thing to me. It makes me think even when I'm sure there's nothing more I could ever care to know about love. My heart is in a constant battle, and currently has yet to decide, if I'm going to be cynical about love or romantic about love.

Why is it that when we get hurt by love we automatically accuse the other person of "stealing" our heart? Normally it's not like me to rally behind the accused. I seem to have made a bad habit of pointing the finger at some poor soul, when I know deep down in my heart of hearts that there is no one worth blaming but myself.

I don't guard my heart very carefully. It's just hanging 10 on my sleeve, and usually jumps ship when I least expect it. Then once I realize how in love I am, it seems I become even more willing to just give of myself. As if it wasn't bad enough that I fall in love when I least expect it, and with the person I least expected, I've got to offer what little bit of myself that remains. And really it's not that I ever minded. There is no better feeling than being in love, except when that person loves you back. But I'm beginning to feel as if there isn't going to be anything left of me for the person who was meant to love me, the person who was meant to have this heart.

Life would just be so much easier if we were able to pick the people with whom we fall in love with. But I suppose that's just another one of life's sick little twists. Life wouldn't be worth living without love, yet there are those times when you're drowning in misery - all because of love. And so regardless of how many times someone steals our heart, or in my case, how many times I try to give it away, we come back for more. We laugh, we cry, we cry some more, we search for what can't be found, we doctor broken hearts for years, and then we swear that this is the last time, only to turn around and do it all over again.