Canceling my account, people.

I have not used it in a while... got bored, too I guess.

Ciao!

I'm not single anymore, it seems

Sorry ladies, she was quicker than all of you

What more can a man say?

Amazing how everything becomes easier
and how little our problems begin to seem
the moment you really understand that you never really loved yourself
and start changing that.

You find yourself not wanting, not asking, not expecting, not wondering and not complaining
about anything anymore.
When you don't really love yourself, every little obstacle in life becomes a horrible thing
because our childish self just interprets every single one of those obstacles
as a confirmation of what he thinks:
that we are worthless.

When that changes and your -self- starts working for him-self instead of against him and our-selves,
every obstacle becomes a challenge and an occasion to grow new metaphorical muscles
because the solidity of our foundations just can't be attacked anymore in that state,
by anything or anyone.

Is this what they call growing up? Maybe, partly.
It is certainly the first step
before anything we hope to accomplish.

Holy mother of Jesus.
Nothing full of nothing covered with nothing.

They say it's then that you finally start doing something.

When you think you're something,
people,
think twice.
Chances are, someone sees you for who you really are.

On the other hand,
don't think you're special and,
chances are,
you will become something.

You will, at least, help the planet by reducing the number of morons by one, in the process.

Jeez.
Yiii-aah.

I just sneezed.
I'm allergic to fake asses.

Then again,
I probably made other people sneeze, too,
sometimes.

One day, I'll be old and perfect.

I'll have all the fake asses rounded up
and I'll be able to love them.

We'll go to Disneyland together and shit.

Bring back innocence,
as if nothing happened,
as if it could all be restarted,
the strength of that smell of trees,
near the beach, near the heart I touched every day,
bring me back myself and remind me,
remind me how much I used to believe
and how much I have lost,
explain me why I still need to think about it,
while most of us just grow out of it,
remind me that I need my childlike eyes back
for my very own reasons
and that explanations are not necessary,
bring me back to those days
where the color of my sky melted
in the color of our sea,
when hope was not needed
because the brightness of my future was obvious,
bring me back the taste of food eaten
in the shadow of teenage games
and in the freshness of windy dreams,
remind me the scent of those golden eyes,
under the heat of a sweaty summer sun,
remind me the feel of a tight swimsuit,
worn inside out to play with fire spirits,
among sand castles and friendly waves,
give me back the quiet of familiar afternoons,
when the dreamlike haze of August warmth
could be stretched forever,
when the laziness of a neverending ice-cream
would reach me at the end of broken hearts
and erotic dreams that were as long as novels,
remind me how many friends I fell in love with,
how many times I wrote a book in my head
about beauty, courage and the joy of being alive,
bring me back that knowledge,
remind me I am still alive,
remind me how strongly I used to feel it,
teach me once more
to believe, trust, hope and fly
as a child running on that beach,
as a man lost in your eyes.

The real lover looks at the world
from the privileged standpoint
accomplished after years of life,
the privileged standpoint of one who doesn't need the world.

The real lover has grown mature and independent
through all the things that make the others fall and cry.

The real lover knows that happiness must be taken
and that she doesn't come if you don't want her.

The real lover knows that everyone is important
and that no one is vital,
that everything is within reach
but nothing is missing,
that happiness must be taken today
and not tomorrow.

The real lover does not need anything from you
and because of this, you are surprised and fascinated;
the real lover has a lot to give you
because the real lover never needs or thinks of asking anything.

The real lover remembers, in a world where everybody has forgotten,
that growing up is a duty,
a duty that separates the ones who deserve happiness
from the ones who don't.

The real lover will always be able to pick up your pieces
when you fall and cry
because the real lover knows that we are alone in the end
and has learned alone to find the consolation that no one can give.

The real lover will touch your mind, your soul and your body
with equal grace and strength,
for these qualities appear
when one has repeated the same things over several lives.

The real lover is always rare
and, man or woman, is always what the world needs and wants.
The world always needs and wants
the real lover to show them how not to need and how not to want.

The real lover is what we become
when we start doing everything right,
when we stop waiting for someone to come and give us what we need,
when we start loving ourselves and trusting the fact
that any time, even now,
we can take the world
and make it ours.

If you meet a real lover,
watch and learn.

No one can teach you more about life.

Memories of you all
pour down like rain
and I see you all as one,
without the differences
in your taste in clothes
and in the way you chose to speak.

Always giving me the same things,
the same gifts, the same sweet pain
of not wanting to avoid you.

Our hands, searching each other,
and finally grasping and holding,
every time,
guided only by the undeniable truth
that in the whole world
we saw no other choice than each other,
both drowned in the illusion
that one of us had the power to be the revelation
the other was looking for.
The joy we received
from our lack of experience,
which made every touch of yours
look like the proof
that the meaning of life was finally found.
Finally found
but so early, in hindsight,
that it lasted as much as a rose does,
pouring out so much beauty at the same time
that it quickly burned and faded.

In the ashes of you, though,
I can still see my gratitude for what you showed me,
the example of you and the sweetness of your rarity,
the desire not to step down from that
and the will to look for more
or die trying.

I sit
and often make myself cry
by thinking at how painful
the wheel of life can be.

How long, we often force ourselves to wait
for the moment when we can meet again,
when several lives finally make us forget
the reasons why we ended up hating each other.

How melancholic, all this can look
when viewed from high above,
from a privileged point of view
that we never reach
if not when it is too late.

How glorious, at the same time,
the idea that there is a progress in our souls,
as slow as the growth of a tree,
so slow that it is only after several lives
that we begin to guess it.

How painfully happy, we can begin to guess we are,
so painfully happy that we develop an addiction,
a great and strong addiction
to the places the mind goes
when we rearrange the memories,
when we rethink the past and the future.

I sit
and often make myself cry
by thinking at how beautiful
the wheel of life can be.

First post of the year is:

"Do more and talk less.
Then do some more and talk even less".