Everything has its price! Now I’m as lonely as a stray dog…
This comes from a man in his seventies, alone. Let my tale serve as a warning to others.
I live in a bustling provincial town, yet surrounded by strangers. The walls of my home feel cold and foreign, the streets I once strode with purpose now bleak and empty. No one waits for me, no one asks after me. Such is the cost of my past…
I stare into the mirror and barely recognize myself. Sunken cheeks, silver hair, hunched shoulders, eyes dulled by time. Where is the man who once lived life to the fullest—charming women, hosting raucous parties, chasing glamour? Where’s the swaggering bon vivant who thought the world his oyster? Now, only a weary, forgotten soul remains…
**Sins of Yesterday**
In my prime, I was a charmer, fortune’s favorite. Beautiful women flocked to me, enchanted and just as swiftly discarded. “You only live once—take what you can,” I’d say. Back then, it felt righteous.
I had a wife, Margaret—kind, patient. She endured fifteen years of marriage, though I gave her no peace. Nights vanished in pubs, stumbling home drunk, sometimes with cheap flings in tow. Margaret stayed silent, hoping I’d change.
But I refused. “Where would she go?” I scoffed when she demanded I choose: reform or lose her.
Turns out, she knew exactly where. One day, she packed her things, took the children, and vanished across the country. No drama, no tears. Just gone—forever.
At first, I shrugged it off. Life rolled on; I barely spared them a thought. Child support? Paid haphazardly. Once, I sent Christmas gifts. Days later, the parcel returned, unopened…
I laughed. “They’ll come crawling back.” But years passed in silence.
**Loneliness: A Harsh Judge**
I never pondered old age. Youth felt eternal. Steady work bored me; I chased revelry instead. Hopped jobs, mocked those who saved, built homes, planned futures.
Now, my “carefree” life leaves me with a meager pension, barely covering prescriptions. A hot meal’s a luxury. Some nights, I sleep hungry—no one to complain to.
Recently, I bumped into an old mate. Aged, yes, but trim, content. A house, family, grandchildren. He clapped my shoulder: “Nicholas, you were the king… look at you now.”
I choked on my reply. All I have left are regrets. Don’t pity me—this is my doing.
While others built homes, I drank with fair-weather friends.
While others saved, I splurged on mistresses.
While others planned tomorrow, I chased tonight.
Now, when I crave family, I dare not call. Grandchildren might exist—I’ll die never knowing their faces.
**A Late Lesson for Those Who Can Still Listen**
Don’t repeat my errors. Youth fades. Family isn’t a given. Cherish those beside you.
Or one day, you’ll stand in an empty flat, shouting “Hello!” to echoes…”
