One of my most confronting memories is when I was 20 and I was sitting on a park bench, writing in my diary. Three blonde girls passed by me, and I remember thinking how beautiful they were. They must have been 15 or so. God, how much I longed for them.
One of them greeted me, saying something akin to "good day, sir" in an overly posh way, after which they laughed, which was clearly meant to ridicule how I look. (I always wear semi-formal clothes.) it dawned on me that they do not even remotely consider me a viable option. They looked at me as though I were an old, unattractive man. That broke my illusion. It was over. My young days were already gone by. I'm in my decline despite never having seen a peak.
I hate my life.
