The age of loneliness

I must have become a grown-up by now. I’ll be 27 by the end of this year.

It seems that, by this age, friends of mine from high school have already had the time to get married, have children and even get a divorce. Meanwhile, I’m lonelier than I’ve ever been before. In fact, I’ve never been alone until recently.

What happened to me? How did I get here? How come I ended up alone when I spent every single moment of this life giving myself in the name of love?

I keep browsing the pages of my past trying to figure out a fatal mistake or a clear sign of bad luck that could explain my downfall. If only I could understand the reason for this loneliness... If only I knew which was the exact moment in time when everything started crumbling down. When did I start dying and why?

Digging up my history, I keep getting this dusty image of a young girl with high hopes of love. That was me undoubtedly, but It feels like that was somewhere in another life, in another land, far-far away. It’s strange that it’s the only picture of me that I’ve kept in mind. No matter how hard I try to find another one, the same image comes back to me, hunting my memory. I was so in love with the feeling of love, back then. My heart was pure, my nights and days were filled with amazing dreams and my trust in mankind was unshaken. How did I end up broken, dreamless and mistrustful? How did my eyes get so weary and gloomy? I used to shine so beautifully... I used to imagine myself as a happy devoted wife and mother... I used to live only for the loved one...

"You shouldn’t worry, dear. Getting married is a piece of cake. It can happen in the blink of an eye. It will happen, no doubt about that." Nice people keep on telling me this kind of words only to build me some confidence.

"Not if you happen to be the kind of person that still believes in soul mates." I answer them invariably while they force themselves to put on a smile and then drown in silence. They cannot comfort me anymore.

The painful truth is that I’ve reached the age when my friends have already had the time to marry, feel alive and get bored, and I’m still alone, contemplating my messed-up life and holding in my hand the picture of the dreamer girl that I used to be long before I’ve become the dead man walking that I am today.