The Graveyard of Illusions.
If you substitute the word 'unhappiness' with the word 'depression' and go to a doctor and tell them that you’re depressed, you have a disease by default that the doctor must treat. In other words, you pretend to be ill while the doctor pretends to cure you, while your unhappiness stays there because you refuse to acknowledge a reason or multiple reasons for your unhappiness. And why are you so unhappy? Maybe because you trap yourself inside a life that is not yours? You cannot freely breathe since you’re terrified to take a full breath while at the same time trying to spread your wings. Why are you so terrified? Maybe because you’re afraid to find out that you don’t have the wings behind your back any longer?
Your dreams have died from starvation since you forgot to feed them. We feed our dreams through fighting for them. Once you stop fighting for your dreams, they are going to die, turning you into an empty shell of your past self. How strange to look around at the dead people who think that they are still alive. So many of them have small roads shaped as a circle, and they keep walking mindlessly around this circle, thinking less and less. They are chained to the routine that degrades their bodies and minds.
Do you really think you can buy happiness? You can’t. Happiness is not for sale and never was. True happiness is a part of wisdom that is hidden deeply in love. To love is to cultivate wisdom and strength. Love is not sex. Love separates us from animals. If you’re able to see in your woman every woman in this world, why would you need someone else? You have to have a heart that feels her, truly feels her. You have to have a soul that is eager to know her, truly know her. Wisdom is in love, and happiness is in love, but somehow, painful happiness, fragile happiness, everything else is just trash. A car, furniture, a big-screen TV, a lover with mindless occasional intercourse that gives you an illusion of your own desirability, a shallow friend who tells you what you want to hear, a silly job where you convince yourself that you make a difference by losing your authenticity out of fear of not blending into the swamp filled with snakes… You begin siding with those whom you despise to eventually become their friend, lover… Vices are so easy and so pleasant when you're enslaved by them. But no deepness in your feelings. No love in your heart. Just mild comfort that you try hard to redefine as happiness.
Have you ever been lost inside a huge cemetery, looking desperately for your own grave? Have you ever asked for directions to find that grave? Your grave is not the beginning nor the end. Your grave is the theme to point out to you how short your life is for mild comfort, for occasional sex with no love, for a silly job where your authenticity is a thing to be embarrassed of. We live once, and we will never be here again. Whatever happened between you and me is a memory that will cease to exist when your heart and mind miss a beat, and our lips won’t take a breath while our eyes would be directed into the darkness of nonexistence. If you truly love someone, you just have to say to this someone, 'I love you,' because tomorrow, who knows, you might be unable to say those three simple words to him or to her. Tomorrow you might be no more, and all of those words of love that make you so beautiful today might die along with you unexpressed and forgotten, hidden under the earth for nothingness to take control over them. Always say it even if you’d get hurt.