I didn’t want to say anything,
Yet I did, in the hope you would hear,
And you heard, but you weren’t listening.
So then I brooded a little more,
Feeling sick inside,
And insecure.
I want so much to reconnect,
To feel relevant, exciting, wanted,
Rather than this creeping regret.
I’ve opened the door to what I don’t know,
And all I seem to do,
Is hurry you as you go.
With apologies for the not so romantic nature of this one on valentines day. I think it’s fair to say I struggle with this getting older business. Moving into my middle age I’m acutely aware of the fact some rather uninspiring starting material is fading. It’s a kind of isolating feeling, knowing you’re neither all that exciting anymore and your potential has slipped away.
I think communicating the insecurities and ever snowballing hang ups is a bit of an exercise in futility that often makes me feel worse about it. Nothing can be done to reverse the erosion after all, nothing will make me suddenly more attractive or interesting. If anything it’s repelling, distancing.
Suspect this is what we like to describe as a mid-life crisis. Fortunately, I’ve not personally felt compelled to do anything reckless. I have however, grown a beard…
