How little you know about happiness, you comfortable people.


Happiness depends on ourselves, simple as that. OK. You didn’t get it. Say it again. And again. And again. You’ll get it eventually.

I’ll never understand, why we want to be so much loved if we are not able to love ourselves enough to be happy. I’ll never understand why do we think that we are not enough to live this life alone.

There is a short answer, that no one wants to agree with. “You don’t love yourself”.

Why people walking on this life feel broke, unhappy, disappointed, miserable, lonely? Why do they keep having this hope that there is a happy ending story waiting for them and the only one who can change whatever they feel is their soulmate?

Meeting your soulmate it’s a really special moment. You always want to shine on your dates. Don’t you? And if you are having an empty heart, hollow body, numb soul, and if behind your eyes there is more darkness than a blind man can see, if you soul bleeds every night when you go sleep. Do you really want to share a bead full of pain? Behind your fake smile, you become a vampire that is ready to suck all the life from your soulmate. You’ll kill him/her even if you lie that its love.

A love story, because of the intensity of feelings, presents to you your most raw and vulnerable. You get down to the heart of yourself. It’s not pretty. It’s not happy. It’s not bright and shiny. it’s messy. And it’s painful. And it’s an identity crisis. A mirror showing you every part of yourself you’re ashamed of, that you hate about yourself, that you wish you could hide away. It’s nakedness. It’s beautiful. And it’s miserable.

Date yourself, take yourself for dinner, for a dance, for a movie, for long, but long walks. Find out what you enjoy to do. Cry and look at you from the corner that no one looks. Laugh so bad that people around you will call you crazy. Dance so deep, as your bones make love to your muscle. Teach yourself, something new, every single day. Take long, but long walks that your feet hurt. Don’t say anything for a day, week, see how that feels. Forgive yourself. Do it again, and again. So you create a connection, so you feel butterfly every morning when you look in the mirror. Talk to you, ask why, how, and when. Make love to you, spiritually and physically. See what is your extreme, where you want to be touched, how you want to be. Create that connection that whoever comes in your life will never be able to unplug it. Whoever comes in your life will become a guest to admire your own paradise, and you will welcome it with a wised heart, patience soul, and the same way you’ll let them go, knowing always that happiness is only about you. 

You don’t need anyone to be  happy, but you might want to share your light, your ocean of art that lives in your veins, you might want to share the beautiful, innocent smile, you might want to share and give in a pure way, a little bit from love that you have for yourself.

Before meeting the one, you already should carry a tremendously heavy soul, full with love, isn’t that how you are gonna give it? Do not give it all, and people that want all of you, they are unhappy people that will dry your inspirations, that will unplug you from your soul. Run from them, as soon as they ask all of you.

When you love yourself, there is a neverending river inside of your blood, there is so much energy around your body, that you’ll never get bored, alone, or sad. Imagine yourself as you are the man/woman you always dreamed of, then why would you be so sad with yourself? I know it’s the way we were built with this wrong illusion that at a certain point you’ll win it all. It doesn’t like this, it never did.

Happiness is not in the heart of the best relationship you ever had, or in the luxury things you own, is just an art of your own soul. We all can have it.






To my fingers’symphony, or Piano’Soul.

Piano Man by Slinkster-Bat

There is such a piano epidemy that no one wants to talk about, just a few people survive. We don’t choose them, this mysterious instrument chooses us. Once is in your blood, your life is poised with a forever art, that can’t be healed. We all have a piano inside of our soul, but not all of us can go so deep and see.

I met a Piano’s soul last night . I have this feeling that I met him in another life. My soul recognizes him. His fingers makes love with the piano. There is not need to be jealous. Some people can’t hear the screams of his soul, as it is a background that he is trying to cover with the music he makes. Wait, is not just music. Is a way for his soul to heal, clean, love, find the peace. He has tied piano strings to his heart so that every time it beat it didn’t sound so empty inside. As soon he is there, playing it, there is not a body anymore, or this world living whatsoever, there is his naked soul, fragile, crying, screaming. He feels cold, hot, lost, fulfilled, there is a life that he is giving to his piano’s soul. Each key is an emotion, a life that he makes, healing sound for the ears of his heart, deep feelings of him. He will start soft, like summer rain, or gentle as a kiss under the moonlight, but he’ll always end as a storm, harsh words, so deep as you watch two bodies on fire, feeling each inch of the love he makes it. He can’t take half, he wants it all.  For each note ended broken, and every key was abused, loved, pressed too hard. His soul riched the sky.

Can you feel the silence of his own exhausted breath, and can you feel how his piano is resting with him in this dark and empty room? Do you hear the echoes of the walls that can’t talk, still can feel?

I’ll learn how to listen to his silence between his innocent smile, and make my own story. Not sure if it feels good to know that this story is gonna be here forever.

Shhh..don’t say anything. We all create art in our own ways. Just close your eyes and watch with me, everything they can’t see, listen and feel it.

Close your eyes, God knows how much space is between his souls.

His eyes are like full moon on late September, with sadness in the corner that no one looks. His eyes are just a clean mirror of his soul, a deep ocean after a storm trying to calm down. Looking into them is like making art. Would he be able to keep the sparkle from his eyes forever? This ocean of him that no one learns how to swim. Would I be able to see him forever, the way I saw him this night ?

I am not afraid that it won’t happen,

I am afraid that will happened and past

As sometimes a star just falls and extinguish.