Twenties to Sixties

 

At my twenties I often thought I was too busy to give pleasure to the torrent of desires my blood released. I´d lie I said I had no time to please other things than those items my mind was aware of, somewhere clear of some drifts, probably missing each aimed move.

I will not tell I wasn´t conscious of the hormonal thrust and its push to be noticed, to be picked, to be loved... But, any time, I had made the inappropriate decision of marrying one I didn´t like more (for the one she was).

Ok! Marriage seemed to be “fine”, but it wasn´t what I had dreamed for me.

Deep inside, the visceral stab was saying I wasn’t unwilling to miss a single day of joy (or sex).

However, daydreaming and wanting more, was an irrational pull I perceived still molesting me, and those reminiscences and desires, liked or not, were somewhat overly self-centered, narcissist, often nesting and tagged along with that visceral quench… As if I was always bound to having said “the world is mine”.

What an idealistic and foolish delusion!

            After that unwise marriage –by the thirties– that blood flow found (and fought) new things in the search for finding myself (I grew slowly).

No doubt sex had found its legal way, its bed, to experiment a bit and a little; although she wasn´t the type of woman I emotionally or sexually desired. In fact, I also fell short as no one would ever imagine.

What is it wanted?

What were my dreams made of, viscerally?

Money never was enough.

It was an unsatisfactory life, underfed with insufficient pleasures. Let´s say I loved my family, but, at certain point, I noticed that my small number of kids didn´t loved me, as I thought would that dreamed children. So, feeling and being alone with the misbehaving of them (their mother was a stumbling block) I fled that boo-boo and escaped from the syndrome of the empty nest.

Kids weren’t “articles” I expect at all… I loved my firstborn, I disliked the second… But those three were a gift, up to the point I preferred to leave them alone (since I also was alone with them).

I cannot tell how my counterparts felt regarding me. I never asked I never wanted to know or learn, and It´s probable I fell too short and ––apart from her–– who really knows that my ex-wife wanted? Will I repeat the same mistake creating problems?

We all were different!

We thought we were alike, but we lied to one another to be joined, to come together.

Whatever thing it was, I often told her a bad impression and, once I realized I couldn’t change what I deeply disliked, I run & hid from the ghost of feeling alone being with her: Sometimes there are things you cannot change, except the place you are.

A family should be built under the consensus of those TWO who previously agreed to hug in love… But I dislike some faults I permitted, more than once, in that roof.

I had to run! (This is not an apologize, not a remorse; but an inscription to be engraved)

Those days –apparently– were unbearable.

But we separated –from one another– in a hurting way that some of the kids reproach, as if I was the only guilty part of the breakup.

Twenty years –of that runaway– have passed with few winds, without any bit of magnificence…

Suddenly, in a slow track given the blow of two decades, I saw myself I was in the same place I thought I had run and escaped.

Although I swaggered inside (and wrongly considered myself as being handsome or healthy) they were older than me, they were too big or fat, they became disgustingly old, slow and sick.

How come I didn´t notice I could be measured the same way? How come I thought I could escape from being the same?

In my sight –these days– some foolishly think they could compete against youth with their tired asses and vainly boasting with their cold breasts.

In their minds there´s a thought, as if “they´re the same”, thinking their high-heeled shoes and lipsticks will work as much as they did when they were nice-looking or sexually active.

We humans are a type of duping suckers.

However, some think –or shrank back– to lately disregard there are thousands of youth with much better tailored conditions than all of us.

You do what you do! (That can´t be denied)

But you´d die with everything you´ve liked, anything you knew or thought you´d keep.

Meanwhile I perish, as I´ve realized I got disagreeable, nullified to be uncaring, meagre or too old, most of them who rejected ––me or you–– have lost the sexual attractive I would walk a square to get her attention and company.

The things they presently do or like, aren’t those I still seek and practice. Their belief system doesn´t match my life style and I became underprivileged, while they probably got rich.

As I see, I don´t identify the pushing reasons beauty needs to be tattooed.  If they were naturally gifted, I don´t see why they needed more and more.

As far as I go away to hide, getting detached of me, “running” as fast as I get old, I don´t want to turn back to see fake eyelashes blinking an eye on me.

When they get old –or feel rejected like I do– they´ll find out the heavy burden gained in the way they do…

We say we loved. But we lied others at a brief reaching out of anything that served us to feel we were beloved, or that had loved ourselves –self-interestedly and narcissistically– by using anyone and anything we were offered to keep or nurture.

The more I see an individual gets old, the more I see some got aware loneliness is a simple part of the repudiated Hell we all said it doesn´t exist, but belatedly cursed and feared.

If loneliness is the portion of Hell deserved to those who hurt or despised, we´d better to be ready to be isolated there to experience the harm we keenly caused egotistically.

At youth, probably few feel affections for the aching and the aging. Few like to love the worry of responsibilities, and it belongs to us to take care of our own passing life.