Never marry a composer, for he will hurt you through the dulcet words he would craft. He would compose those fragmented notes into such a bittersweet melody. Tranquility will lose its serenity; beauty will kiss imprudence and tune will be gone eerie.

He would promise a song written by his yearning soul, but you will just hear how he mourns and how he longs to break you. He would promise until you would get used of his frail voice—hurtful as it would shatter your heart when you hear it slips in his lips.

Do not marry a singer. He will sing his surreal tale; how he was left in pain and how he was broken by his past. He will grant you a song that seems to linger in your mind, depicting a cassette player and some broken vinyls and plays how rough its sound is.

He will sing you a luscious melody but as time passes—you will find it meant for another soul; for you are just a passenger who listens in his pain and a soulmate who isn't meant to be.