The tattoo of happiness

I wanted a tattoo. The true tattoo of happiness.

I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find it.

That’s normal.

Happiness is not an image.

I cannot tattoo happiness onto my skin.

It has nothing concrete about it.

And if, despite everything, I want to represent it at all costs, I finish it, I complete it.

My happiness?

A collection of things, ideas, sensations, encounters, music, dances, colors, memories... and sorrows; all those falls, those small or great despairs and failures that melt the ego through tamed light.

My happiness is built within me through my desire to grow, to move forward, to evolve.

It cannot be spoken or written.

But if, by chance, words can reach it, I can only share its outlines, a few tiny glimpses of an incredible sense of fulfillment.

And if I must end with these lines, here is what comes to mind:

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Happy to feel alive, in one's place, without pain, without lack, and without regret.

Loving one's story because it ages well, like the fine wine you bring out to welcome true friends.

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