Everything comes at a cost! Now I’m as lonely as a stray dog…
This comes from a man past seventy, writing to share a tale that might serve as a warning.
I live in a bustling provincial town, yet surrounded by strangers. The weathered walls of my home no longer feel familiar, and the streets I once strode with purpose now seem bleak and unwelcoming. No one waits for me. No one asks after me. Such is the price of my past…
When I gaze into the mirror, I scarcely recognize myself—sunken cheeks, silver hair, hunched shoulders, eyes drained of light. Where is the man who once lived recklessly, chasing women, lavish feasts, and grandeur? Where’s the cocksure charmer who believed the world bowed to him? In his place stands a weary, forgotten soul…
**Sins of Yesterday**
In my prime, I was a rake, fortune’s favorite. Beautiful women enchanted me; I’d woo them effortlessly, then discard them just as swiftly. “You only live once,” I’d declare, convinced of my own wisdom.
I had a wife, Catherine—a gentle, patient woman. She endured fifteen years of marriage, though I gave her no peace. Nights vanished in revelry; I’d stumble home drunk, sometimes trailing cheap flings. Catherine stayed silent, enduring, hoping I’d change.
But I refused to relent. I assumed she’d never leave. Where could she go? I was charming, wealthy, the life of every gathering. Then one day, she demanded I choose: reform or lose her. I scoffed, “And where would you go, darling?”
She knew exactly where. One morning, she packed her things, took our children, and vanished across the country—no drama, no tears. Just gone.
At first, I shrugged it off. I carried on, barely sparing a thought for my family. I paid child support sporadically; they never reminded me. Once, I sent Christmas gifts—a “surprise.” Days later, the parcel returned unopened…
I brushed it aside. “They’ll come crawling back,” I told myself. Yet years passed in silence.
**Lonely Age: A Bitter Reckoning**
I never pondered old age. Youth felt eternal. Steady work bored me; I chased merriment instead. I flitted from job to job, mocking those who saved, built homes, planned futures.
Now my “carefree” life leaves me with a meager pension, barely covering medicines. Warm meals are memories. Some nights, I sleep hungry—no one to complain to.
Recently, I bumped into an old acquaintance. Aged but dignified, he radiated calm—a home, family, children. He clapped my shoulder and said, “Nicholas, you were the life of the party… What happened?”
I had no answer. Regret choked me. All I have left are ghosts of choices. Don’t pity me. This ruin is my own making.
While others built families, I drank with fair-weather friends.
While others saved, I squandered cash on fleeting affairs.
While others planned tomorrows, I chased tonight’s thrill.
Now, when I long for family, I lack the courage to call. Grandchildren might exist—I’ll die never knowing their faces.
**A Belated Plea to Those Who Still Can**
Don’t repeat my folly. Youth isn’t endless. Family isn’t a given. Cherish those beside you.
Because one day, you might stand in an empty flat where even echoes ignore your “Hello”…
